UC-NRLF 


p. 


The  Old  Wives'  Tale 

A  Play 

by- 
GEORGE  PEELE 

As  presented  at  Middlebury  College  in  1911 

Edited  with  Notes  and  an  Introduction 
BY 

FRANK  W.  CADY,  A.M.,  B.Litt.  (Oxon) 


ARTletVeRJTAni 


BOSTON:  RICHARD  G.  BADGER 

TORONTO:   THE  COPP,  CLARK  CO.,  LIMITED 


Introduction    and   Stage    Directions 
Copyright,  1916,  by  Richard  G.  Badger 


All  Rights  Reserved 


-  73y 

\°(\Q> 


Made  in  the  United  States  of  America 


The  Gorham  Press,  Boston,  U.  S.  A. 


INTRODUCTION 

Of  the  plays  of  George  Peele,  The  Old  Wives' 
Tale  was  long  in  least  repute.  Critics  looked  at 
it  askance  because  they  failed  to  realize  its  purpose, 
and  so  felt  it  to  be  a  jumble  of  all  sorts  of  things 
of  little  virtue  and  less  interest.  The  critic  is  at 
home  with  the  conventional,  and  this  play  is  in 
some  respects  unconventional.  It  was  not  to  be 
subjected  to  the  usual  standards  of  judgment,  and 
so  the  critic  passed  it  over,  after  expressing  mild 
surprise  that  Milton  should  have  honored  so  feeble 
a  thing  by  making  it  the  source  of  the  story  told  in 
Com  us.  And  yet  the  chief  devices  used  in  con- 
structing the  Tale  are  strikingly  conventional;  it  is 
only  in  sources  and  purpose  that  Peele  shows  his 
originality. 

The  thing  which  distinguishes  Elizabethan  drama 
from  other  dramatic  types  is  the  control  of  the 
story  by  the  characters.  In  classic  drama  once  the 
story  is  decided  upon  the  characters  and  their  places 
in  it  are  fixed.  Not  so  in  Elizabethan.  It  had, 
strictly  speaking,  no  story  unity.  The  major  story 
of  the  plot  was  hardly  more  than  a  starting  point 
in  getting  together  a  group  of  characters  typical  in 
a  general  way  of  the  society  of  the  times  and  form- 
ing the  center  of  unity  around  which  action,  spec- 
3 


300 


4  .    ...  INTRODUCTION 

tacle,  and  dialogue  were  grouped.  Of  uch  a  play 
the  Merchant  of  Venice  is  a  typical  example.  The 
major  story  is  the  story  of  Portia  and  Bassanio. 
To  it  naturally  is  added  Antonio's  experience  with 
Shylock.  But  Shylock  has  a  daughter  and  she  a 
lover,  and  Tubal  is  Shylock's  closest  friend,  and 
Portia  has  other  suitors  besides  Bassanio,  and 
Launcelot  Gobbo  has  some  uncertainty  whom  he 
shall  serve.  So  it  goes,  here  a  little  and  there  a 
little  added  to  the  original  story,  until  at  the  end 
we  have  before  us  a  group  of  people  varied  and  yet 
homogeneous,  each  with  his  own  life  story  inter- 
woven inextricably  with  those  of  the  others.  The 
unity,  however,  is  found  in  the  homogeneous  group 
of  characters  and  not  in  the  diverse  stories  of  their 
lives.  It  is  in  the  characters,  also,  that  the  realism 
of  The  Merchant  of  Venice  shows  itself.  They  it 
is  that  give  the  atmosphere  of  plausibility  to  a  most 
improbable  series  of  events.  Stage  tradition,  in- 
herited from  medieval  times,  took  no  thought  of 
temporal  or  spatial  perspective.  The  people  in 
The  Merchant  of  Venice  are  English  men  and 
women  transported  to  Venice  for  the  story's  sake. 
The  story  is  extravagant  and  absurd.  It  is  ac- 
cepted without  question  because  the  people  whose 
it  is  are  real  and  intensely  alive.  The  great  secret 
of  Shakespeare's  skill  in  character  portrayal  was 
his  genius;  but  the  traditional  habit  of  his  theater 
to  make  characters  English  and  realistic  and  to 
subordinate  story  to  the  presentation  of  a  homoge- 


INTRODUCTION  5 

neous  socid  group  gave  him  his  magnificent  oppor- 
tunity.    He  came  in  the  fullness  of  time. 

It  is  true,  however,  that  by  the  time  Shakespeare 
wrote  his  comedies  there  was  ready  for  him  a  story 
formula  which  had  been  found  especially  effective 
in  the  presentation  of  this  homogeneous  character 
group.  To  it  he  added,  certainly,  but  he  did  not 
alter  it  materially,  because  his  interest  was  primar- 
ilv  in  the  group  of  characters  and  the  story  was 
scarcely  more  than  a  vehicle  of  expression.  In  fol- 
lowing this  formula  he  made  up  his  plot  from  two 
or  three  stories.  There  was  a  story  dealing  with 
people  of  the  better  class.  As  was  normal  in  his 
day  it  was  from  the  point  of  view  of  these  people 
that  the  social  group  was  handled.  Beside  this 
ran  another  story  about  characters  whose  social 
rank  was  low,  tradesmen,  or  servants,  or  social 
outcasts.  The  chief  story  was  always  borrowed. 
The  minor  story  might  be  borrowed  or  original. 
But  it  always  seems  to  grow  out  of  an  attempt  to 
give  social  orientation  to  the  people  in  the  main 
story  through  an  enlargement  of  the  background 
of  their  life  by  an  original  treatment  of  the  minor 
characters  in  the  story.  Often  by  the  sheer  force 
of  its  originality  and  consequent  realism  it  usurped 
the  interest  of  the  main  story  and  ran  away  with 
the  play.  However  that  might  be,  the  action  of 
these  stories  was  always  skillfully  interrelated  by 
the  use  of  character  or  situation  in  precisely  the 
same  way  that  the  life  stories  of  any  homogeneous 


6  INTRODUCTION 

group  of  men  and  women  would  be  related.  Often, 
indeed,  Shakespeare  invented  a  third  story,  or  group 
of  episodes,  to  bind  the  other  two  together,  as  in 
Midsummer-night's  Dream,  where  the  fairies  are 
so  used,  or  the  Jessica-Lorenzo  episodes  in  The 
Merchant  of  Venice,  or  Dogberry  and  the  Watch 
in  Much  Ado.  But  the  total  effect  was  to  give 
the  impression  of  a  cross-section  of  Elizabethan  so- 
ciety, each  group  intent  upon  its  own  purposes,  but 
in  accomplishing  them  plausibly  assisting  the  pur- 
poses of  the  other  groups.  The  unity  lay  not  in 
the  story,  but  in  the  homogeneity  of  the  group  of 
characters.  This  is  not  the  place  to  discuss  further 
Shakespeare's  artistic  skill  in  presenting  this  homo- 
geneous group.  The  point  here  to  be  made  is  that 
Peele,  with  a  skill  not  equaling  Shakespeare's,  is 
using  the  same  formula.  It  is  in  this  respect  that 
the  play  is  a  forerunner  of  greater  things. 

The  play  is  a  fairy  story.  In  order  to  got  his 
audience  into  the  mood  he  desires,  Peele  m&kes  use 
of  that  perfectly  conventional  Elizabethan  device, 
j-frr  jndiirtinn,  In  it  Madge  begins  to  tell  the  fairy 
tale,  when  the  actors  themselves  break  in  upon  the 
scene  and  the  action  is  at  once  under  way,  like  a 
dream  come  true.  Madge  in  the  induction  and 
throughout  the  play  performs  a  necessary  and  im- 
portant service  in  making  Peele's  purpose  plain 
and  in  keeping  it  before  the  audience;  but  at  the 
start  she  is  well  content  to  see  others  enact  her 
Story  for  her.     When   it  is  well  under  way   it  is 


INTRODUCTION  7 

seen  to  consist  of  aj_  least  t\vo_slojjci._  Each  of 
these  centers  about  a  double  quest.  In  the  main 
story  two  brothers  are  searching  for  their  sister 
who  has  been  spirited  away  by  a  sorcerer.  The 
other  part  of  the  double  quest  in  this  main  story 
is  taken  up  by  a  lover  of  the  sister  who  comes 
seeking  her.  In  the  minor  story  two  crude  fellows 
aping  the  chivalry  of  their  betters  enter  uporT~a 
quest  for  one  whom  we  are  allowed  to  believe  is 
the  same  young  woman ;  but  they  are  satisfied  each 
with  one  of  the  two  daughters  jpf  LampjjJscus,  a 
villager,  whose  quest  for  husbands  for  his  daugh- 
ters is  the  second  part  of  the  minor  story.  All  of 
these  quests  are  bound  together  by  the  presence  in 
the  plot  of  the  story  of  Erestus,  who  is  the  prophet 
of  good,  and  foretells  to  each  seeker  what  he  may 
hope  from  his  quest.  Erestus  himself  is  under 
the  power  of  the  sorcerer  in  the  play  who  has  stolen 
{his  lady  and  driven  her  mad.  Here  we  have  the 
story  of  those  in  higher  walks  of  life  and  that  of 
those  in  the  lower  interrelated  in  many  ways  and 
bound  together  by  a  third  story  acting  as  a  cement 
between  the  other  two.  In  this  respect  it  does  not 
differ  from  the  practice  of  Shakespeare  himself. 

Peele  is,  however,  much  more  skillful  in  his  use 
of  the  induction  than  in  his  use  of  the  formuFa  for 
romantic  comedy.  In  fact,  without  the  induction 
the  story  would  hardly  hang  together,  because  the 
group  of  characters  does  not  have  quite  the  homo- 
geneity Shakespeare  succeeded  in  imparting  to  his 


8  INTRODUCTION 

groups,  and  without  which  it  is  difficult  to  give  a 
romantic  comedy  the  impression  of  unity.  And 
yet  the  matter  of  the  story  is  but  a  fairy  tale,  and 
Madge  so  successfully  introduced  its  outline  into 
her  induction  that  she  has  given  itr^n_iropxession 
of  unity  it  otherwise  would  not  have. 

It  is  perfectly  true,  one  must  confess,  that  these 
two  major  conventionalities  would  of  themselves 
give  The  Old  Wives'  Tale  no  more  than  a  historic 
interest  were  it  not  for  two  matters  in  which  Peele 
showed  more  originality.  In  the  first  place,  his 
choice  of  sources  for  the  situations  in  the  play  was 
entirely  original.  Instead  of  turning  to  the  con- 
ventional sources  in  the  romantic  literature  and 
drama  of  the  time,  Peele  went  to  the  fairvjore  of 
his_jawn  laad-,-  the  romance  of  the  folk,  and  put  into 
his  play  the  versions  of  familiar  tales  which  he  had 
himself  without  doubt  heard  in  childhood.  In  the 
second  place,  by  the  use  he  makes  of  the  induction, 
he  not  only  emphasizes  in  the  minds  of  the  audience 
the  sources  of  the  play,  but  reminds  them  that  the 
outlook  upon  life  which  he  wishes  them  to  take  in 
viewing  it  is  not  that  of  the  court  and  its  sophistica- 
|  tion,  but  that  of  people  like  Madge  and  her  com- 
panions. Not  alone  original  in  his  sources,  he  was 
also  original  in  the  point  of  view  from  which  he 
got  his  outlook  upon  life  in  the  play. 

Bound  up  in  the  conventional  formula  for  ro- 
mantic comedy  as  used  by  Shakespeare  there  was 
the  conventional  point  of  view  characteristic  of  the 


INTRODUCTION  9 

times.  Society  did  not  center,  as  it  does  to-day,  in 
the  ubiquitous  working-man.  Elizabethan  society 
existed  for  the  upper  classes.  For  this  reason  the 
audience  was  asked  by  the  playwright  of  the  time 
to  identify  itself  in  sympathetic  point  of  view  with 
the  characters  who  take  part  in  the  central  roman- 
tic story  of  the  play.  In  Midsummer-night's  Dream, 
for  instance,  we  see  everything  from  the  viewpoint 
of  the  lovers  and  their  set.  That  the  crew  of  Bot- 
tom are  thus  seen  is  evident  from  the  last  act.  Bot- 
tom is  funny  to  the  spectators,  but  to  himself  he  is 
profoundly  serious.  How  definitely  the  point  of 
view  of  the  play  is  that  of  the  upper  classes  is  ap- 
parent when  one  attempts  to  imagine  the  events 
from  Bottom's  viewpoint.  A  play  viewing  lffe 
from  that  angle  would,  it  might  be  said,  be  possi- 
ble only  in  this  modern  day.  These  plays  were 
written  at  a  time  when  society  had  not  become 
self-conscious  and  before  sociology  had  cast  its 
sombre  shadow  across  men's  lives. 

So  it  is  that  Peele  dared  to  do  the  unconven^ 
tional  and  original  thing  when  he  asked  his  audi-! 
ence  to  identify  itself  for  this  play  with  Madge  and, 
her  companions  and  not  with  the  lost  maiden  and* 
those  in  quest  of  her;  to  sit,  that  is,  once  more 
around  the  fireplace  as  they  had  done  in  their  far- 
distant  childhood,  and  see  again  through  the  narra- 
tive of  an  old  and  withered  crone,  as  once  they 
had,  the  romances  of  fairy-land  unfolded  before 
them.     In  its  final  effect  Peele  has  asked  us  to  look 


IO 


INTRODUCTION 


h 


again  at  the  world  from  the  point  of  view  of  the 
child,  as  Barrie  has  done  for  this  age  in  Peter  Pan. 
And  in  making  this  request  he  has  revealed  his 
purpose  in  the  play.  The  spectator's  mind  is  im- 
mediately divided  against  itself.  The  judgment  of 
the  child  in  him  is  made  severely  critical  of  the 
sophistication  of  the  adult  and,  in  this  way,  a  dou- 
ble criticism  of  contrast  is,  as  it  were,  set  into 
action  concerning  the  matters  treated  within  the 
play.  <Peele  makes  of  his  fairy  stories  a  dramatic 
criticism  of  the  romantic  chivalry  of  the  day.  By 
establishing  this  original  viewpoint  of  his  in  the 
minds  of  the  spectators  he  makes  this  criticism  two- 
edged.  Not  alone  are  the  characters  of  the  minor 
plot  in  their  exaggeration  a  satire  upon  the  roman- 
tic chivalry  soberly  treated  in  the  main  plot.  That 
main  plot  itself  exhibits  a  chivalry  exaggerated  and 
yet  in  many  subtle  ways  debased  by  Madge's  plebe- 
ian imagination.  The  chivalry  of  courtiers  must 
have  undergone  a  marked  change  in  spirit  and  in 
deeds  when  seen  from  the  point  of  view  of  the 
child  who  is  listening  to  a  story  told  by  a  woman 
like  her.  To  set  up  this  viewpoint  is  just  what 
Peele  successfully  attempts  in  this  play.  This  is 
what  was  meant  by  Professor  Gummere  when  he 
said:  "He  (Peele)  was  the  first  to  blend  romantic 
drama  with  a  realism  which  turns  romance  back 
upon  itself,  and  produces  the  comedy  oT  subcoh- 
scious  humor."  For  we  are  constantly  comparing 
the  point  of  view  which  Peele  brings  to  the  fore- 


INTRODUCTION  n 

ground  by  his  realistic  appeal  to  us  to  be  children 
once  more,  with  the  usual  point  of  view  subcon- 
sciously asserting  itself  as  we  see  the  play  or  read  it. 

The  same  point  of  view  is  carefully  maintained 
in  the  presentation  of  the  characters.  That  these 
are  conventional  types  is  at  once  apparent.  But 
they  are  seen  very  largely  through  the  eyes  of 
Madge.  There  is  a  colourless  regularity  about  the 
people  in  the  major  story  which  reflects  her  opinion 
of  them  as  proper  in  their  place,  but  uninteresting. 
Huanebango,  of  course,  is  a  modification  of  the 
conventional  braggart  soldier;  but  in  the  eyes  of 
Madge  he  is  the  only  genuine  and  lively  exponent 
of  true  chivalry.  The  rustics  become  invested  with 
a  more  sympathetic  interest  because  she  is  one  of 
them;  and  Erestus,  the  spirit  of  good  within  the 
play,  is  the  only  one  of  the  characters  from  the 
upper  classes  who  has  her  undivided  sympathy  and 
respect. 

To  a  modern  audience,  it  is  true,  both  the  so- 
ciety of  that  day  and  the  stage  practice  have  be- 
come traditional  and  even  obsolete.  The  plays  of 
that  time  have  become  nothing  but  archaisms  of 
only  historical  interest  unless  they  happen  to  pre- 
sent some  matter  of  present  human  interest.  Shake- 
speare is  perennial,  for  instance,  in  two  respects, 
his  poetry  and  his  characterization.  His  stage  prac- 
tice has  become  obsolete;  his  point  of  view  toward 
society  has  perished  with  the  society  that  gave  it 
birth ;  but  his  people  live  to  us  in  spite  of  this,  and 


12  INTRODUCTION 

his  poetry  speaks  to  the  heart  of  man  in  every  age. 
The  question  in  regard  to  The  Old  Wives'  Tale  is, 
What  is  there  in  the  play  of  present  human  interest 
which  makes  worth  while  a  modern  presentation? 
It  probably  does  not  lie  in  poetry  or  characteriza- 
tion. It  lies,  rather,  in  the  very  things  in  which 
Peele  showed  his  originality:  the  perennial  child- 
interest  in  fai^-tale  to  which  he  appealed  in  his 
choice  of  sources,  and  the  perennial  interest  to  an 
adult  in  returning  to  look  upon  life  through  the 
eyes  of  a  child.  The  fast  flocking  memories  of 
childhood  carried  the  story  in  Peele's  day  and 
interpreted  its  humor  and  satire  as  he  wished  it 
to  be  interpreted.  So  they  do  to-day,  in  spite  of 
obsolete  stage  conventions  and  social  forms.  In 
appealing  to  the  perennial  interest  in  fairy  stories, 
Peele  was  assuring  to  himself  an  interested  audience 
as  long  as  the  old  tales  continued  to  be  the  property 
of  the  children  of  the  race. 

Upon  looking  at  the  matter  from  this  point  of 
view,  it  becomes  evident  at  once  that  in  any  modern 
presentation  of  the  play  the  Jak^_£kment  is  the 
one  which  needs  to  be  emphasized.  The  producer 
has  before  him  in  the  large  three  possibilities:  to 
reproduce,  as  far  as  possible,  the  Elizabethan  stage 
and  setting;  to  make  an  out-door  presentation;  or 
to  set  the  play  upon  a  modern  picture  stage  with  all 
the  scenic  accessories  that  are  to-day  available.  If 
the  present  text  is  based  upon  the  first  of  the  three 
possibilities,  it  is  not  because  the  producers  failed 


INTRODUCTION  13 

to  see  how  effective  the  other  methods  of  presenta- 
tion might  be  made,  but  because  to  them  at  that 
time  the  first  seemed  the  most  feasible. 

No  large  liberties  were  taken  with  the  text  aside 
from  the  shifting  of  one  scene.  A  fairy  dance  ac- 
companied by  song  was  made  the  prologue  to  the 
play.  Again  within  the  induction  the  fairies  danced 
when  the  song  "When  as  the  rye"  was  sung;  and 
at  the  end  a  final  fairy  dance  preceded  the  epilogue, 
which  was  a  modern  addition  to  the  play.  Per- 
haps the  most  questionable  innovation  was  found  in 
having  "The  Mad  Maid's  Song,"  by  Robert  Her- 
rick,  sung  while  Venelia  was  upon  the  stage.  In 
addition  to  these  things,  fairies  were  made  to  open 
and  shut  the  curtains,  place  and  remove  properties, 
and  perform  other  incidental  functions  tending  to 
keep  their  activities  in  mind.  The  details  of  these 
devices  are  revealed  in  the  text,  in  which  every 
change  from  the  original  form  is  carefully  indicated. 

A  word  should,  perhaps,  be  said  about  the  stage. 
Its  construction  is  an  easy  matter,  requiring  a  very 
moderate  outlay.  The  only  essentials  are  an  open 
front  stage  and  a  back  stage,  before  which  a  curtain 
is  hung.  There  should  be  two  entrances  to  the 
open  front  stage,  one  on  either  side  of  the  curtain 
hung  before  the  back  stage.  The  entrances  to  the 
back  stage  can  be  arranged  to  suit  the  convenience 
of  the  play  which  is  to  be  given.  For  instance,  it 
was  found  that  the  fireplace.,  made  an  effective  en- 
trance and  exit  for  the  characters  in  Madge's  in- 


i4  INTRODUCTION 

terrupted  tale.  Properties  are  few  and  solid.  They 
may  be  disposed  to  suit  the  conception  of  the  set- 
ting which  is  being  worked  out  by  the  producers. 
The  modified  stage  used  at  the  production  of  which 
this  edition  is  the  outcome  is  shown  in  the  frontis- 
piece. It  is  much  more  elaborate  than  is  needed, 
much  larger  in  many  ways;  though  it  is  far  more 
simple  than  would  be  any  setting  of  the  play  upon 
a  modern  stage.  Its  general  form  was  taken  from 
a  cut  of  the  ground  plan  of  the  Blackfriar's  drawn 
by  Professor  C.  F.  Wallace  for  an  article  in  the 
Century  for  September,  1910.  But  the  arrange- 
ment of  properties  and  of  exits  and  entrances,  other 
than  the  two  exposed  to  the  audience,  was  entirely 
to  suit  the  convenience  of  this  production. 

The  conception  of  the  stage  held  by  Elizabethan 
playwrights  was  in  essence  very  simple.  They  were 
accustomed  to  think  of  the  broad  open  front  stage 
as  anywhere,  suiting  the  scene  to  be  represented. 
Sometimes  it  took  its  locality  from  settings  ex- 
posed upon  the  back  stage  when  the  curtain  was 
withdrawn.  When  the  curtain  was  closed  it  was 
generally  simply  an  open  place.  The  space  behind 
the  curtain,  the  back  stage,  was  always  a  definite 
locality,  though  that  might  change  as  the  scenes 
changed.  With  this  in  mind,  it  was  necessary  to 
place  the  house  of  Clunch,  the  magic  well,  and  the 
cell  of  Sacrapant  behind  the  curtain.  The  cross 
where  three  roads  met  and  the  mound  of  earth  with 
<fhe  magic  glass'  would  as  necessarily  be  on  the  open 


INTRODUCTION  15 

stage.  At  the  beginning  of  the  play  the  open  stage 
is  a  wood  into  which  the  three  vagabonds  enter, 
and  after  Madge  is  interrupted  in  her  story,  that 
same  open  stage  becomes  the  fairy-land  where  all 
these  strange  wonders  happen.  The  details  are 
presented  in  the  stage  directions.  In  the  manner 
thus  briefly  indicated  was  effected  .the  first  essential 
detail  in  presenting  Peek's  point  of  view,  an  ade- 
quate stage  setting. 

And  yet,  although  the  simplicity  of  the  Eliza- 
bethan stage  has  its  charm,  it  also  has  its  limita- 
tions. The  Old  Wives'  Tale  is  a  true  out-doors 
play.  It  calls  for  the  witchery  of  moonlight  to 
help  make  its  improbabilities  seem  probable.  This 
the  bare  stage  could  not  give  nor  does  the  poetry 
of  the  play  help  in  the  least  to  bring  the  illusion 
of  Fairyland  as  does  that  of  The  Midsummer- 
night's  Dream.  Next  best  would  be  a  modern  set- 
ting in  which  the  art  of  the  stage  manager  could 
most  effectively  supplement  the  art  of  the  poet. 
But,  after  all,  if  the  note  that  is  timeless  in  the 
play,  the  note  of  Fairyland,  the  note  of  father  and 
mother  looking  again  at  life  through  the  eyes  of 
their  children — if  that  note  is  caught  and  held 
throughout,  even  the  strangeness  of  the  antique 
stage,  in  its  novelty  and  intimacy  with  the  audi- 
ence, adds  to  the  interest  and  in  some  subtle  man- 
ner increases  the  beauty  of  the  presentation.  Nor 
do  the  changes  in  the  play  appear  as  anachronisms 
so  long  as  they  are  in  harmony  with  this  central 


16  INTRODUCTION 

touch  of  perennial  interest.  Robert  Herrick  may 
have  written  after  Peele's  play  was  forgotten;  but 
his  note  was  the  note  struck  by  that  part  of  the 
play  in  which  his  song  is  used ;  and  it  would  be 
far  from  the  thought  of  any  Elizabethan  to  deny 
the  right  to  any  one  to  borrow  where  he  could  to 
enhance  the  dramatic  value  of  his  play.  They 
stood  not  upon  the  order  of  their  stealing,  but  stole 
at  once,  where  it  was  a  question  of  the  play's  success. 

These  are  the  matters  of  importance  in  connec- 
tion with  adapting  the  play  to  a  modern  audience. 
A  word  may  not  be  amiss  about  the  various  charac- 
ters. The  most  difficult  acting  parts  are  those  of 
the  onlookers,  Madge  and  her  companions,  and  yet 
upon  them  very  largely  rests  the  business  of  hold- 
ing the  audience  to  Peele's  point  of  view.  The 
stage  directions  have  been  made  to  indicate  their 
business  in  a  general  way;  but  detail  must  of  neces- 
sity be  left  to  individual  initiative.  The  characters 
of  the  main  story  are  rather  colourless,  but  call  for 
careful  work  in  the  presentation.  Erestus  is  espe- 
cially effective.  Huanebango  and  Corebus,  with 
their  ladies,  beggar  description  in  any  adequate 
presentation ;  the  low  comedy  possibilities  of  the  four 
are  almost  limitless.  Jack  and  Sacrapant  are  foils 
to  each  other  in  dignity  and  frolicsomeness.  It  is 
not  intended,  so  it  seems,  that  the  ghost  of  Jack 
shall  be  presented  as  invisible.  He  is  simply  unseen 
by  the  other  actors  at  the  right  times. 

And  so  the  modern  version  of  the  play  has  grown 


INTRODUCTION  17 

out  of  the  old  through  an  attempt  to  make  it  cer- 
tain that  the  modern  audience  would  catch  the  fairy 
spirit  which  pervades  it.  The  elaborate  stage  direc- 
tions, so  unlike  the  antique  practice,  have  been  in- 
serted that  those  who  read  and  see  not  may  possi- 
bly get  some  of  that  same  spirit  as  they  read.  The 
Old  Wives'  Tale  is  not  a  great  tale,  but  it  is  a 
pleasant  one.  The  deeds  it  chronicles  are  not  the 
deeds  of  every  day,  but  those  of  a  childlike  fancy. 
The  people  whom  it  brings  to  life  are  creatures  of 
every  day  seen  through  the  glorifying  eyes  of  those 
whose  minds  are  simple.  It  is  the  perennial  com- 
ment of  childhood  upon  life  that  gives  the  play 
its  charm. 

It  is  impossible  and  unwise  to  go  into  more  detail 
out  of  personal  experience  in  the  presentation  of 
the  play.  Mr.  Archibald  Henderson  has  truly  sug- 
gested that  stage  and  audience,  traditions  and  con- 
ventions are  but  tools  in  the  hands  of  a  playwright 
of  genius,  which  he  uses  to  create  a  work  of  art. 
But  it  is  true  that  when  once  his  work  of  art  is 
created  it  is  in  turn  the  tool  of  producer  and  actor 
through  which  they  present  their  interpretation  of 
the  life  it  expresses.  For  this  reason  there  is  only  one 
royal  rule  for  success.  Make  the  play  your  own 
until  it  masters  you  and  then  build  into  its  pro- 
duction its  mastery  over  your  soul.  If  you  are  an 
artist  you  will  not  be  satisfied  until  you  make 
people  see  the  play  through  your  eyes.  By  that 
your  artistic  measure  must  be  taken. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS 

Sacra pa nt 

First  Brother,  named  Calypha 

Second  Brother,  named  Thelea 

eumenides 

Erestus 

Lampriscus      ^rJXi 

HUANEBANGO 

COREBUS 

WlGGEN 

Churchwarden 

S  EXTON 

Ghost  of  Jack 

Delia,  sister  to  Calypha  and  Thelea 

Venelia,  betrothed  to  Erestus 

Z antippa,  daughter  to  Lampriscus 

Celanta,  daughter  to  Lampriscus 

Hostess 

Antic 

Frolic 

Fantastic 

Clunch,  a  smith 

Madge,  his  wife 

Friar 

Furies 

Epilogue 

Harvestmen  and  Women,  Fairies,  etc. 


OLD   WIVES'    TALE 


OLD   WIVES'   TALE 

[The  open  stage,  as  of  the  Blackfriar's  Theater 
in  Elizabethan  London.  Back  center  a  curtain  with 
entrances  each  side.  Right  front  (as  seen  by  the 
audience)  a  cross  ivhere  three  roads  are  supposed 
to  meet.  Left  front  a  mound  of  earth.  To  right 
of  cross  and  left  of  mound  of  earth,  stools  for  spec- 
tators. Over  each  entrance,  legends:  over  the  left, 
The  Road  by  the  Forge  of  Clunch ;  over  the  right, 
The  Road  to  the  House  of  Lampriscus;  by  each, 
To   Fairyland. 

Off  stage  are  heard  voices  singing  a  song,  The 
Fairy  Ring,  and  from  either  entrance  burst  in  fairies 
coming  to  dance  upon  the  green.  They  are  clad  in 
all  the  hues  of  spring  and  ripple  with  gladness  as 
they  dance.    At  the  end  they  go  out  as  they  came  in. 

Enter,  left,  Antic,  Fantastic,  and  Frolic,  three 
knights-  of  the  weary  nay  in  tattered  raiment: 
Frolic,  weary  and  footsore;  Fantastic,  steeped  in 
melancholy  and  shivering  between  fear  and  cold; 
Antic,  famished,  and  hindered  in  utterance  by  a 
stammering  tongue.  They  have  lost  their  way  in 
the  forest  and  are  in  abject  fear.~\  1 

1  Throughout,  the  presence  of  brackets  indicates  mat- 
ter  inserted   in   the  present  text. 

19 


20  OLD  WIVES'  TALE 

Ant.  How  now,  fellow  Frolic !  what,  all 1 
amort?  doth  this  sadness  become  thy  madgess? 
What  though  we  have  lost  our  way  in  the  woods? 
yet  never  hang  the  head  as  though  thou  hadst  no 
hope  to  live  till  to-morrow ;  for  Fantastic  and  I 
will  warrant  thy  life  to-night  for  twenty  in  the 
hundred. 

Fro.  Antic,  and  Fantastic,  as  I  am  frolic 
franion,2  never  in  all  my  life  was  I  so  dead  slain. 
What,  to  lose  our  way  in  the  wood,  without  either 
fire  or  candle,  so  uncomfortable?  O  caelum!  O 
terra!  O  maria!  O  Neptune! 

Fan.  WTiy  makes  thou  it  so  strange,  seeing 
Cupid  hath  led  our  young  master  to  the  fair  lady, 
and  she  is  the  only  saint  that  he  hath  sworn  to 
serve  ? 

Fro.  What  resteth,  then,  but  we  commit  him 
to  his  saint,  and  each  of  us  take  his  stand  up  in  a 
tree,  and  sing  out  our  ill  fortune  to  the  tune  of 
"O  man  in  desperation"? 

Ant.  Desperately  spoken,  fellow  Frolic,  in  the 
dark:  but  seeing  it  falls  out  thus,  let  us  rehearse 
the  old  proverb: 

"Three  merry  men,  and  three  merry  men, 
And  three  merry  men  be  we  ; 
I  in  the  wood,  and  thou  on  the  ground, 
And  Jack  sleeps  in  the  tree." 

[J  dog  barks  without.] 

1  Dejected. 

3  A  gay,  carefree  fellow. 


OLD  WIVES'  TALE  21 

Fan.  Hush!  a  dog  in  the  wood,  or  a  wooden  1 
dog!  O  comfortable  hearing!  I  had  even  as  lief 
the  chamberlain  of  the  White  Horse  had  called  me 
up  to  bed. 

Fro.  Either  hath  this  trotting  cur  gone  out  of 
his  circuit,  or  else  are  we  near  some  village,  which 
should  not  be  far  off,  for  I  perceive  the  glimmer- 
ing of  a  glow-worm,  a  candle,  or  a  cat's  eye,  my 
life  for  a  halfpenny ! 

[Enter,  left,  Clunch,  the  aged  smith,  returning 
aeary  from  his  day's  work,  with  lantern  in  his  hand. 
He  limps  slightly  with  the  years  and  wears  the 
leathern  apron  of  his  trade.  Not  too  cordial  a  man 
is  this  weary  smith,  though  he  still  knows  the  uses 
of  hospitality.] 

In  the  name  of  my  own  father,  be  thou  ox  or  ass 
that  appearest,  tell  us  what  thou  art. 

Clunch.  What  am  I !  why,  I  am  Clunch,  the 
smith.  What  are  you  ?  what  make  you  in  my  terri- 
tories at  this  time  of  the  night? 

Ant.  What  do  we  make,  dost  thou  ask?  why, 
we  make  faces  for  fear. 

Fro.  And,  in  faith,  sir,  unless  your  hospitality 
do  relieve  us,  we  are  like  to  wander,  writh  a  sor- 
rowful heigh-ho,  among  the  owlets  and  hobgoblins 
of  the  forest.  Good  Vulcan,  for  Cupid's  sake  that 
hath  cozened  us  all,  befriend  us  as  thou  mayst; 
and  command  us  howsoever,  wheresoever,  whenso- 
ever, in  whatsoever,  for  ever  and  ever. 
1  Wooden — mad.     Note  the  pun. 


22  OLD  WIVES'  TALE 

Clunch.  Well,  masters,  it  seems  to  me  you 
have  lost  your  way  in  the  wood:  in  consideration 
whereof,  if  you  will  go  with  Clunch  to  his  cottage, 
you  shall  have  house-room  and  a  good  fire  to  sit 
by,  although  we  have  no  bedding  to  put  you  in. 

Fan.     O  blessed  smith.1 

Ant.     O  bountiful  Clunch!1 

Clunch.  For  your  further  entertainment,  it 
shall  be  as  it  may  be,  so  and  so.  [The  dog  barks 
within.~\  Hark!  this  is  Ball,  my  dog,  that  bids 
you  all  welcome  in  his  own  language:  come,  take 
heed  for  stumbling  on  the  threshold. — Open  door, 
Madge;  take  in  guests. 

[The  curtains  are  opened  by  two  fairies  who  van- 
ish. On  the  right  is  revealed  the  house  of  Clunch 
and  Madge,  with  cheery  fire-place,  a  comfortable 
settle,  a  table  set  with  meager  fare,  a  few  stools,  etc. 
On  the  left  is  a  well,  with  step  and  sweep.  Center 
is  the  Cell  of  Sacrapant  behind  closed  curtains. 
Above  is  the  railing  of  a  balcony.  Madge,  the  wife 
of  Clunch,  is  standing  center.  She  is  an  old,  bent 
woman,  but  as  cheery  as  the  blaze  of  her  own  fire, 
and  whole-hearted  in  welcoming  the  guests  Clunch 
brings.] 

Madge.  Welcome,  Clunch,  and  good  fellows 
all,  that  come  with  my  good-man:  for  my  good- 
man's  sake,  come  on,  sit  down:  here  is  a  piece  of 
cheese,  and  a  pudding  of  my  own  making. 

Ant.     Thanks,    gammer.       [He    begins    to    eat 

*In  the  original  text  these  are  one  speech  spoken  by  All. 


OLD  WIVES'  TALE  23 

hastily.]  A  good  example  for  the  wives  of  our 
town. 

Fro.  Gammer,  thou  and  thy  good-man  sit  lov- 
ingly together ;  we  come  to  chat,  and  not  to  eat. 

Clunch.  Well,  masters,  if  you  will  eat  noth- 
ing, take  away.  [Madge  removes  food.  Antic 
grievously  disappointed.]  ComeA__what  do  we  to 
pass  away  the  time?  \To  Madge.]  Lay  a  crab 
in  the  tin-  to  roast  tor  lamb's  wool.1  What,  shall 
we  have  a  game  at  trump2  or  ruff2  to  drive  away 
the  time?     How  say  you? 

Fan.  This  smith  leads  a  life  as  merry  as  a  king 
with  Madge,  his  wife.  Sirrah  Frolic,  I  am  sure 
thou  art  not  without  some  JtaleJ^or  other!  no 
doubt  but  Clunch  can  bear  his  part. 

Fro.  Else  think  you  me  ill  brought  up :  so  set 
to  it  when  you  will. 

[Here  they  are  astonished  by  the  music  of  a  song 
in  the  distance  of  which  these  are  the  words.] 

SONG 

Whenas  the  rye  reach  to  the  chin, 

And  chopcherry,  chopcherry  ripe  within, 

Strawberries  swimming  in  the  cream, 

And  school-boys  playing  in  the  stream  ; 

Then,  O  then,  O  then,  O  my  true-love  said, 

Till  that  time  come  again 

She  could  not  live  a  maid. 

1 A   drink  of  ale   and   of  crab-apples  roasted. 

3  Common  card  games. 

3  "Round"   in  the  original. 


24  OLD  WIVES'  TALE 

[Enter  on  either  side  the  fairies  again.~\ 

[Fro.  Marry,  what  are  these?  I  fear  me, 
Clunch,  there  is  some  witchery  about,  or  these  be 
fairies  come  to  dance  upon  the  green.] 

[The  fairies  after  a  dance  go  out.] 

Ant.  This  sport  does  well  [an  it  were  not 
sorcery]  ;  but  methinks,  gammer,  a  merry  winter's 
tale  would  drive  away  the  time  trimly:  come,  I 
am  sure  you  are  not  without  a  score. 

Fan.  I'faith,  gammer,  a.  tale  of  an  hojir_long 
were  as  good  as  an  hour's,  sleep. 

Fro.  Look  you,  gammer,  of  the  giant  and  the 
king's  daughter,  and  I  know  not  what:  I  have  seen 
the  day,  when  I  was  a  little  one,  you  might  have 
drawn  me  a  mile  after  you  with  such  a  discourse. 

Madge.  Well,  since  you  be  so  importunate,  my 
good-man  shall  fill  the  pot  and  get  him  to  bed.  [As 
she  is  speaking  Clunch  goes  to  the  well  for  water 
and  therewith  fills  the  pot  upon  the  fire.]  They 
that  ply  their  work  must  keep  good  hours:  one  of 
you  go  lie  with  him;  he  is  a  clean-skinned  man,  I 
tell  you,  without  either  spavin  or  windgall:  so  I 
am  content  to  drive  away  the  time  with  an  old 
wives'  winter's  tale. 

Fan.  No  better  hay  in  Devonshire ;  o'  my  word, 
gammer,  I'll  be  one  of  your  audience. 

Fro.    And  I  another,  that's  flat. 

Ant.  Then  must  I  to  bed  with  the  good-man. — 
Bona  nox,  gammer. — Good  night,   Frolic. 

Clunch.   Come  on,  my  lad,  thou  shalt  take  thy 


OLD  WIVES'  TALE  25 

unnatural  rest  with  me.     [Exit  with  Antic] 

Fro.  Yet  this  vantage  shall  we  have  of  them  in 
the  morning,  to  be  ready  at  the  sight  thereof 
extempore. 

[Frolic  and  Fantastic  remove  the  table.  Madge 
places  her  stool  near  the  settle  and  stirs  the  fire. 
As  the  old  ivife  begins  her  tale  she  sits  on  the  settle 
next  Frolic,  who  is  by  the  fire.  Fantastic  is  on  a 
stool  at  her  right.  All  during  the  story  Frolic, 
though  interested,  affects  disdain  while  Fantastic 
hears  it  out  with  pricked-up,  eager  ears.] 

Madge.  Now  this  bargain,  my  masters,  must  I 
make  with  you,  that  you  will  say  hum  and  ha  to 
my  tale,  so  shall  I  know  you  are  awake. 

Both.     Content,  gammer,  that  will  we  do. — 

Madge.  Once  upon  a  tirne,  there  was  a  king,  or 
a  lord,  or  a  duke,  that  had  a  fair  daughter,  the 
fairest  that  ever  was;  as  white  as  snow  and  as  red 
as  blood:  and  once  upon  a  time  his  daughter  was 
stolen  away:  and  he  sent  all  his  men  to  seek  out 
his  daughter;  and  he  sent  so  long,  that  he  sent  all 
his  men  out  of  his  land. 

Fro.     Who  drest  his  dinner,  then? 

Madge.     Nay,  either  hear  my  tale,  or  turn  tail. 

Fan.    Well  said !  on  with  your  tale,  gammer. 

Madge.  O  Lord,  I  quite  forgot!  there  was  a 
conjurer,  and  this  conjurer  could  do  anything,  and 
he  turned  himself  Into  a  great  ^ragon,  and  carried 
the  king's  daughter  away  in  his  mouth  to  a  castle 
that  he  made  of  stone;  and   there  he  kept  her  I 


/ 


26  OLD  WIVES'  TALE 

know  not  how  long,  till  at  last  all  the  king's  men 
went  out  so  long  that  her  two  brothers  went  to 
seek  her.  O,  I  forget!  she  (he,  I  would  say) 
turned  a  proper  young  man  to  a  bear  in  the  night, 
and  a  man  in  the  day,  and  keeps  by  a  cross  that 
parts  three  several  ways;  and  he  made  his  lady 
run  mad, — Ods  me  bones,  who  comes  here? 

[Enter,  fireplace,  the  two  brothers.  Two  in  one, 
or  one  in  two,  are  these  who  venture  after  their 
sister  into  this  maze  of  sorcery.  As  proper  young 
gentlemen  as  one  would  see  in  summer  s  day,  but 
simple-minded  and  somewhat  colorless  withal,  yet 
well  suited  and  with  weapons  at  their  sides.  As 
they  enter  the  three  about  the  fire  are  seen  to  nod 
their  understanding  of  the  tale.~\ 

Fro.  Soft,  gammer,  here  some  come  to  tell  your 
tale  for  you. 

Fan.  Let  them  alone;  let  us  hear  what  they 
will  say.1 

First  Bro.     Upon  these  chalky  cliffs  of  Albion 
We  are  arrived  now  with  tedious  toil; 
„     And  compassing  the  wide  world  round  about, 
To  seek  our  sister,   to  seek  fair  Delia  forth, 
Yet  cannot  we  so  miicji^js  hear  of  her. 

[Enter,  fireplace,'  Erestus,  to  the  cross,  unseen 
by  the  two  brothers,  an  old  man,  half  wizard  and 
half  friar,  in  gown  of  grey  ivith  rosary  and  crucifix. 
He  walks  head  down  and  counts  his  beads  and  begs 
an  alms,  while  Madge  points  him  out  to  her  com- 
1  This  closes  the  induction. 


OLD  WIVES'  TALE  27 

panions;  and  yet  he  is  the  poner  for  good  within 
tin-  play.  11  ho  pats  to  naught  the  plans  of  sorcery, 
fittingly  he  stands  by  the  cross  where  meet  three 
ways  to  warn  the  passers-by  against  the  sorcerer.] 

Second  Bro.    O  fortune  cruel,  cruel  and  unkind  ! 
Unkind  in  that  we  cannot  find  our  sister, 
Our  sister,  hapless  in  her  cruel  chance. — 

[He  sees  Erestus.] 
Soft!  who  have  we  here? 

First  Bro.  Now,  father,  God  be  your  speed ! 
what  do  you  gather  there? 

Erest.  Hips  and  haws,  and  sticks  and  straws, 
and  things  that  I  gather  on  the  ground,  my  son. 

First  Bro.  Hips  and  haws,  and  sticks  and 
straws!  why,  is  that  all  your  food,  father? 

Erest.    Yea,  son. 

Second  Bro.  Father,  here  is  an  alms-penny  for 
me;  and  if  I  speed  in  that  I  go  for,  I  will  give  thee 
as  good  a  gown  of  grey  as  ever  thou  didst  wear. 

First  Bro.  And,  father,  here  is  another  alms- 
penny  for  me ;  and  if  I  speed  in  my  journey,  I  will 
give  thee  a  palmer's  staff  of  ivory,  and  a  scallop- 
shell  of  beaten  gold. 

Erest.     Was  she  fair? 

Second  Bro.  Ay,  the  fairest  for  white,  and  the 
purest  for  red,  as  the  blood  of  the  deer,  or  the  driven 
snow. 

Erest.     Then  hark  well,  and  mark  well,  my  old 
spell : 
Be  not  afraid  of  every  stranger; 


28  OLD  WIVES'  TALE 

[Frolic  crosses  himself,  the  others  show  fear.] 
Start  not  aside  at  every  danger; 
Things  that  seem  are  not  the  same; 
Blow  a  blast  at  every  flame; 
For  when  one  flame  of  fire  goes  out, 
Then  come  your  wishes  well  about: 
If  any  ask  who  told  you  this  good, 
Say,  the  white  bear  of  England!s_w:ood. 

First   Bro.      Brother,    heard   you   not   what   the 
old  man  said? 
Be  not  afraid  of  every  stranger; 
Start  not  aside  for  every  danger; 
Things  that  seem  are  not  the  same ; 
Blow  a  blast  at  every  flame; 
For  when  one  flame  of  fire  goes  out, 
Then  come  your  wishes  well  about; 
If  any  ask  who  told  you  this  good, 
Say,  the  white  bear  of  England's  wood. 

Second  Bro.    Well,  if  this  do  us  any  good, 
Well  fare  the  white  bear  of  England's  wood! 

[The   two  brothers  go   out  by   the   magic  well, 
second  brother  repeating  first  two  lines  of  the  spell.] 

Erest.     Now  sit  thee  here,  and  tell  a  heavy  tale. 
Sad  in  thy  mood,  and  sober  in  thy  cheer. 
Here  sit  thee  now,  and  to  thyself  relate 
The  hard  mishap  of  thy  most  wretched  state. 

[Madge  and  her  companions  again  nod  their  un- 
derstanding   and    Madge    prepares    to    knit,    since 
others  are  telling  her  story  for  her.] 
In  Thessaly  I  lived  in  sweet  content, 


OLD  WIVES'  TALE  29 

Until  that  fortune  wrought  my  overthrow ; 

For  there  I  wedded  was  unto  a  dame, 

That  lived  in  honor,  virtue,  love,  and  fame. 

But  Sacrapant,  that  cursed  sorcerer,    -  ; 

Being  besotted  with  my  beauteous  love, 

My  dearest  love,  my  true  betrothed  wife, 

Did  seek  the  means  to  rid  me  of  my  life. 

But  worse  than  this,  he  with  his  'chanting  spells 

Did   turn  me  straight  unto  an  ugly  hear; 

And  when  the  sun  doth  settle  in  the  west, 

Then  I  begin  to  don  my  ugly  hide: 

And  all  the  day  I  sit,  as  now  you  see, 

And  speak  in  riddles,  all  inspired  with  rage, 

Seeming  an  old  and  miserable  man, 

And  yet  I  am  in  April  of  my  age. 

[But  now,]1  Venelia,  my  betrothed  love, 

Runs  madding,  all  enraged,  about  the  woods, 

All  by  his  cursed  and  enchanting  spells. — 

[Enter,  fireplace,  Venelia,  his  lady,  mad,  search- 
ing about  for  the  lover  of  whom  her  dim  mind 
holds  a  fleeting  memory,  but  whom  she  cannot  rec- 
ognize. The  three  by  the  fireplace  fear  her  and  as 
she  goes  out  thereat  Fantastic  explores  the  chimney 
with  terror-stricken  glances. 

All  the  while  she  is  upon  the  stage,  the  singers 
heard  before  are  singing  the  "Mad  Maid's  Song"  of 
Robert  Herrick.] 

[Ah,]  2  here  comes  Lampriscus,  my  discontented 

1  Original,   See  where. 
'Original,   But. 


30  OLD  WIVES'  TALE 

neighbour. 

{Enter,  left,  Lampriscus,  old,  leaning  on  a  staff, 
a  beggarly  man,  querulous  from  much  hen-pecking, 
the  wreck  of  what  might  once  have  been  a  man.  He  , 
bears  a  pot  of  honey.  Lampriscus  is  a  fellow-villager 
with  Clunch  and  Madge,  one  only  indirectly  con- 
nected with  the  fairy  story  through  his  daughters, 
vicariously  a  fairy  as  it  were.  During  the  Lam- 
priscus incident  Madge  knits  busily,  but  attentively, 
Fantastic  goes  peacefully  to  sleep,  and  Frolic  is 
enduring  somewhat  impatiently  his  aching  feet.~\ 

How  now,  neighbour!  you  look  towards  the 
ground  as  well  as  I :  you  muse  on  something. 

Lamp.  Neighbour,  on  nothing  but  on  the  matter 
I  so  often  moved  to  you:  if  you  do  anything  for 
charity,  help  me;  if  for  neighbourhood  or  brother- 
hood, help  me;  never  was  one  so  cumbered  as  is 
poor  Lampriscus;  and  to  begin,  I  pray  receive  this 
pot  of  honey,  to  mend  your  fare. 

Erest.  Thanks,  neighbour,  set  it  down;  honey 
is  always  welcome  to  the  bear.  And  now,  neigh- 
bour, let  me  hear  the  cause  of  your  coming. 

Lamp.  I  am,  as  you  know,  neighbour,  a  man 
unmarried,  and  lived  so  unquietly  with  my  two 
wives,  that  I  keep  every  year  holy  the  day  wherein 
I  buried  them  both:  the  first  wTas  on  Saint  An- 
drew's day,  the  other  on  Saint  Luke's. 

Erest.  And  now,  neighbour,  you  of  this  coun- 
try say,  your  custom  is  out.  But  on  with  your  tale, 
neighbour. 


OLD  WIVES'  TALE  31 

Lamp.  By  my  first  wife,  whose  tongue  weaned 
me  alive,  and  sounded  in  my  ears  like  the  clapper 
of  a  great  bell,  whose  talk  was  a  continual  torment 
to  all  that  dwelt  by  her  or  lived  nigh  her,  you  have 
heard  me  say  I  had  a  handsome  daughter. 

Erest.    True,  neighbour. 

Lamp.  She  it  is  that  afflicts  me  with  her  con- 
tinual clamours,  and  hangs  on  me  like  a  bur:  poor 
she  is,  and  proud  she  is;  as  poor  as  a  sheep  new- 
shorn,  and  as  proud  of  her  hopes  as  a  peacock  of 
her  tail  well-grown. 

Erest.  Well  said,  Lampriscus,  you  speak  it  like 
an  Englishman. 

Lamp.  As  curst  as  a  wasp,  and  as  froward  as  a 
child  new-weaned ;  she  is  to  my  age,  as  smoke  to 
the  eyes,  or  as  vinegar  to  the  teeth. 

Erest.  Holily  praised,  neighbour.  As  much  for 
the  next. 

Lamp.  By  my  other  wife  I  had  a  daughter  so 
hard-favoured,  so  foul  and  ill  faced,  that  I  think  a 
grove  full  of  golden  trees,  and  the  leaves  of  rubies 
and  diamonds,  would  not  be  a  dowry  answerable 
to  her  deformity. 

Erest.  Well,  neighbour,  now  you  have  spoke, 
hear  me  speak :  send  them  to  the  well  for  the  water 
of  life;  there  shall  they  find  their  fortunes  unlooked 
for.     Neighbour,  farewell. 

Lamp.  Farewell,  and  a  thousand.  [Erestus 
goes  out  by  the  ivell.~\  And  now  goeth  poor  Lam- 
priscus to  put  in  execution   this  excellent  counsel. 


32  OLD  WIVES'  TALE 

[He  goes  out  right.] 

Fro.  Why,  this  goes  round  without  a  fiddling- 
stick:  but,  do  you  hear,  gammer,  was  this  the  man 
that  was  a  bear  in  the  night  and  a  man  in  the  day? 
Madge.  Ay,  this  is  he;  and  this  man  that  came 
to  him  was  a  beggar,  and  dwelt  upon  a  green.  [En- 
trance of  Harvesters  for  dance.]  But  soft!  who 
come  here  ?  O,  these  are  the  harvestmen ;  ten  to 
one  they  sing  a  song  of  mowing. 
[Their  song  is  sung  without.] 

All  ye  that  lovely  lovers  be, 

Pray  you  for  me: 

Lo,  here  we  come  a-sowing,  a-sowing, 

And  sow  sweet  fruits  of  love; 

In  your  sweet  hearts  well  may  it  prove ! 
[Enter,  fireplace,  Huanebango  violently  frighten- 
ing off  the  dancers  and  awakening  Fantastic  with  a 
start.  He  is  dressed  in  fantastic  and  highly-colored 
garb,  as  one  who  is  complacent  about  himself,  and 
bears  in  his  hand  a  great  two-handed  sword,  whose 
blade,  however,  in  spite  of  much  boasting,  has  not 
yet  been  steeped  in  gore.  It  may  be  there  is  in  this 
fantastical  figure  a  touch  of  satire  upon  knighthood 
which  is  past  its  flower.  Huanebango  is  followed 
by  Corebus,  the  booby,  arrayed  as  for  a  village  fes- 
tival in  the  proudest  of  suits.  Let  those  who  are 
hasty  to  judge  this  Corebus  a  coward,  withhold 
their  opinion.  He  likes  not  the  point  of  a  two- 
handed  sword  when  it  is  thrust  at  his  breast,  but 
he  knows  the  boasting  of  Huan  to  be  the  hollowest 


OLD  WIVES'  TALE  33 

mocki  ry  and  shows  himself  after  all  a  man  of 
judgment  in  many  things,  having,  indeed,  no  little 
learning  of  his  onn.  As  Huan  begins  his  speech, 
Fantastic  and  Frolic  start  after  Corebus  and  Huan 
in  great  curiosity,  but  at  sight  of  his  sic  or  d  return 
hastily  to  the  settle.} 

Huan.  Now,  by  Mars  and  Mercury,  Jupiter 
and  Janus,  Sol  and  Saturnus,  Venus  and  Vesta, 
Pallas  and  Proserpina,  and  by  the  honour  of  my 
house,  Polimackeroeplacidus,  it  is  a  wonder  to  see 
what  this  love  will  make  silly  fellows  adventure, 
even  in  the  wane  of  their  wits  and  infancy  of  their 
discretion.  Alas,  my  friend,  what  fortune  calls 
thee  forth  to  seek  thy  fortune  among  brazen  gates, 
enchanted  towers,  fire  and  brimstone,  thunder  and 
lightning?  Her  beauty,  I  tell  thee,  is  peerless,  and 
she  precious  whom  thou  affectest.  Do  off  these 
desires,  good  countryman :  good  friend,  run  away 
from  thyself;  and,  so  soon  as  thou  canst,  forget  her, 
whom  none  must  inherit  but  he  that  can  monsters 
tame,  labours  achieve,  riddles  absolve,  loose  en- 
chantments, murder  magic,  and  kill  conjuring, — 
and  that  is  the  great  and  mighty  Huanebango. 

Cor.  Hark  you,  sir,  hark  you.  First  know  I 
have  here  the  flurting  feather,  and  have  given  the 
parish  the  start  for  the  long  stock:1  now,  sir,  if  it 
be  no  more  but  running  through  a  little  lightning 
and  thunder,  and  "riddle  me,  riddle  me,  what's 
this?"     I'll  have  the  wench  from  the  conjurer,  if 

1  Long  stocking. 


34  OLD  WIVES'  TALE 

he  were  ten  conjurers. 

Fan.  [Fearfully  and  with  deep  interest.]  Gam- 
mer, what  is  he? 

Madge.  [Condescendingly  superior.  She  has 
never  stopped  knitting.  This  is  her  story  and  noth- 
ing can  surprise  her.]  O,  this  is  one  that  is  going 
to  the  conjurer:  let  him  alone,  hear  what  he  says.1 

Huan.  I  have  abandoned  the  court  and  honour- 
able company,  to  do  my  devoir  against  this  sore 
sorcerer  and  mighty  magician:  if  this  lady  be  so 
fair  as  she  is  said  to  be,  she  is  mine,  she  is  mine; 
meus,  mea,  meurn,  in  contemptum  omnium  gram- 
maticorum. 

Cor.     O  falsum  Latinum! 
The  fair  maid  is  minum, 
Cum  apurtinantibus  gihletis  and  all. 

Huan.  If  she  be  mine,  as  I  assure  myself  the 
heavens  will  do  somewhat  to  reward  my  worthiness, 
she  shall  be  allied  to  none  of  the  meanest  gods,  but 
be  invested  in  the  most  famous  stock  of  Huane- 
bango, — Polimackeroeplacidus,  my  grandfather,  my 
father,  Pergopolineo,  my  mother,  Dionora  de  Sar- 
dinia, famously  descended. 

Cor.  Do  you  hear,  sir?  had  not  you  a  cousin 
that  was  called  Gusteceridis? 

Huan.  Indeed,  I  had  a  cousin  that  sometime 
followed  the  court  infortunately,  and  his  name  Bus- 
tegusteceridis.      [Enter,  well  to  cross,  Erestus,  un- 

1  This  speech  and  the  one  which  precedes  were  origi- 
nally before  the  first  speech  of  Huanebango. 


OLD  WIVES'  TALE  35 

seen.] 

Cor.  O  Lord,  I  know  him  well!  he  is  the  knight 
of  the  neat's-feet. 

Huax.  O,  he  loved  no  capon  better!  he  hath 
oftentimes  deceived  his  boy  of  his  dinner;  that  was 
his  fault,  good  Bustegusteceridis. 

Cor.  Come,  shall  we  go  along?  [Sees  Eres- 
tus.] 

Soft!  here  is  an  old  man  at  the  cross:  let  us  ask 
him  the  way  thither. — Ho,  you  gaffer!  I  pray  you 
tell  where  the  wise  man  the  conjurer  dwells. 

Huan.  Where  that  earthly  goddess  keepeth  her 
abode,  the  commander  of  my  thoughts,  and  fair 
mistress  of  my  heart. 

Erest.  Fair  enough,  and  far  enough  from  thy 
fingering,  son. 

Huan.  I  will  follow  my  fortune  after  mine  own 
fancy,  and  do  according  to  mine  own  discretion. 

Erest.  Yet  give  something  to  an  old  man  be- 
fore you  go. 

Huan.     Father,   methinks  a  piece  of  this  cake 
might  serve  your  turn. 
Erest.    Yea,  son. 

Huax.  Huanebango  giveth  no  cakes  for  alms: 
ask  of  them  that  give  gifts  for  poor  beggars. — Fair 
lady,  if  thou  wert  once  shrined  in  this  bosom,  I 
would  buckler  thee  haratantara.  [He  goes  out  by 
the  zv  el  I.] 

Cor.  Father,  do  you  see  this  man?  you  little 
think  he'll  run  a  mile  or  two  for  such  a  cake,  or 


36  OLD  WIVES'  TALE 

pass1  for  a  pudding.  I  tell  you,  father,  he  has  kept 
such  a  begging  of  me  for  a  piece  of  this  cake! 
Whoo !  he  comes  upon  me  with  "a  superfantial  sub- 
stance, and  the  foison  of  the  earth,"  that  I  know 
not  what  he  means.  If  he  came  to  me  thus,  and 
said,  "My  friend,  Corebus,"  or  so,  why,  I  could 
spare  him  a  piece  with  all  my  heart;  but  when  he 
tells  me  how  God  hath  enriched  me  above  other 
fellows  with  a  cake,  why,  he  makes  me  blind  and 
deaf  at  once.  Yet,  father,  here  is  a  piece  of  cake 
for  you,  as  hard  as  the  world  goes.     [Gives  cake.] 

Erest.     Thanks,  son,  but  list  to  me; 
He  shall  be  deaf  when  thou  shalt  not  see. 
Farewell,  my  son;  things  may  so  hit, 
Thou  mayst  have  wealth  to  mend  thy  wit. 

Cor.  Farewell,  father,  farewell;  for  I  must 
make  haste  after  my  two-hand  sword  that  is  gone 
before. 

[They  go  out  severally,  Corebus  by  well,  Erestus 
by  fireplace.  Madge  keeps  on  knitting.  Fantastic 
composes  himself  for  another  nap  and  Frolic  turns 
his  attention  again  to  his  feet.] 

[The  back  curtain  is  drawn  aside  by  two  fairies, 
who  take  their  stand  on  either  side  the  entrance  to 
the  cell.  Sacrapant,  the  sorcerer,  appears  in  his 
cell  and  there  does  magic.  He  is  clad  in  the  dark 
robes  of  sorcery  and  is  in  form  majestic.  In  his 
hand  he  bears  a  wand  and  on  his  head  he  wears  a 
wreath,  the  signs  of  his  magic  power.  Without 
'Care  for. 


OLD  WIVES'  TALE  37 

these  he  is  impotent  and  doomed  to  death.  At  his 
first  word  there  are  signs  of  intense  fear  in  the 
three  spectators,  which  die  down  as  the  incidents 
unfold.] 

Sac.     The  day   is  clear,   the  welkin  bright  and 
grey, 
The  lark  is  merry  and  records  her  notes; 
Each   thing  rejoiceth   underneath    the   sky, 
But  only  I,  whom  heaven  hath  in  hate, 
Wretched    and    miserable    Sacrapant. 
In  Thessaly  was  I  born  and  brought  up: 
My  mother  Meroe  hight,  a  famous  witch, 
And  by  her  cunning  I  of  her  did  learn 
To  change  and  alter  shapes  of  mortal  men. 
There  did   I  turn  myself  into  a  dragon, 
And  stole  away  the  daughter  to  the  king, 
Fair  Delia,  the  mistress  of  my  heart; 
And  brought  her  hither  to  revive  the  man1 
That  seemeth  young  and  pleasant  to  behold, 
And  yet  is  aged,  crooked,  weak,  and  numb. 
Thus  by  enchanting  spells  I  do  deceive 
Those  that  behold  and  look  upon  my  face; 
But  well  may  I  bid  youthful  years  adieu. 
See    where    she    comes    from    whence    my   sorrows 
grow ! 

[Delia  enters  by  the  well  with  a  pot  in  her  hand. 
She  is  drawn,  it  seems,  by  the  magic  in  the  wand  of 
Sacrapant  for  she  walks  as  one  fixed  in  a  dream, 
modestly  and  with  a  charming  innocence.] 
1  Sacrapant. 


38  OLD  WIVES'  TALE 

How  now,   fair  Delia!  where  have  you  been? 

Del.  At  the  foot  of  the  rock  for  running  water, 
and  gathering  roots  for  your  dinner,  sir. 

Sac.     Ah,  Delia, 
Fairer  art  thou  than  the  running  water, 
Yet  harder  far  than  steel  or  adamant! 
Del.    Will  it  please  you  to  sit  down,  sir? 
Sac.     Ay,  Delia,  sit  and  ask  me  what  thou  wilt, 
thou  shalt  have  it  brought  into  thy  lap. 

Del.  Then,  I  pray  you,  sir,  let  me  have  the  Best 
meat  from  the  King  of  England's  table,  and  the 
best  wine  in  all  France,  brought  in  by  the  veriest 
knave  in  all  Spain. 

Sac.     Delia,  I  am  glad  to  see  you  so  pleasant: 
Well,  sit  thee  down. — 

[There  is  without  the  sound  of  voices  singing  an 
incantation.     Sacrapant  with  the  magic  in  his  wand 
directs  the  two  fairies  standing  by  his  cell  door  to 
set  the  table  and  draws  from  his  cell  a  fat  and  jolly 
friar  in  black  to  serve  his  meat.    As  the  song  ceases 
the  fairies  return  to  their  places  beside  the  curtain, 
and  the  Friar  places  the  food  upon  the  table.] 
Spread,  table,  spread, 
Meat,  drink,  and  bread. 
Ever  may  I  have 
What  I  ever  crave. 
When  I  am  spread, 
Meat  for  my  black  cock, 
And  meat  for  my  red. 
[Sacrapant  and  Delia  seat  themselves,  the  Friar 


OLD  WIVES'  TALE  39 

standing  behind  the  chair  of  Sacrapant.] 

Sac.     Here,  Delia,  will  ye  fall  to? 

Del.     Is  this  the  best  meat  in  England? 

Sac.    Yea. 

Del.     What  is  it? 

Sac.     A  chine  of  English  beef,  meat  for  a  king 
and  a  king's  followers. 

Del.     Is  this  the  best  wine  in   France? 

Sac.    Yea. 

Del.     What  wine  is  it? 

Sac.     A  cup  of  neat  wine  of  Orleans,  that  never 
came  near  the  brewers  in  England. 

Del.     Is  this  the  veriest  knave  in  all  Spain? 

Sac.     Yea. 

Del.     What,  is  he  a  friar? 

Sac.     Yea,  a  friar  indefinite,  and  a  knave  infinite. 

Del.     Then,  I  pray  ye,  Sir  Friar,  tell  me  before 
you  go,  which   is  the  most  greediest  Englishman? 

Fri.     The  miserable  and  most  covetous  usurer. 

Sac.     Hold  thee  there,  friar.      [The  Friar  goes 
into  the  cell.]    But,  soft!    [Sacrapant  arises.] 
Who  have  we  here?     Delia,  away,  be  gone! 
Delia,  away!  for  beset  are  we. —  [Delia  disappears 
in  the  cell.     Fairies  remove  table  and  stools, 
close  curtains  and  go  out.] 
But  heaven  or  hell  shall  rescue  her  for  me.     [From 
cell  door.    He  then  goes  out.] 

[The  two  brothers  enter  by  the  well,  searching 
anxiously  for  Delia.] 

First   Bro.      Brother,   was  not   that   Delia   did 


4o  OLD  WIVES'  TALE 

appear, 
Or  was  it  but  her  shadow  that  was  here? 

Second  Bro.     Sister,  where  art  thou?     Delia, 
come  again! 
He  calls,  that  of  thy  absence  doth  complain. — 
Call  out,  Calypha,  so  that  she  may  hear, 
And  cry  aloud,  for  Delia  is  near. 

Echo.    Near. 

First  Bro.  Near !  O,  where  ?  hast  thou  any  tid- 
ings? 

Echo.     Tidings. 

Second  Bro.  Which  way  is  Delia,  then  ?  or  that, 
or  this? 

Echo.    This. 

First  Bro.  And  may  we  safely  come  where 
Delia  is? 

Echo.     Yes. 

Second  Bro.     Brother,  remember  you  the  white 
bear   of   England's  wood? 
"Start  not  aside  for  every  danger, 
Be  not  afeard  of  every  stranger; 
Things  that  seem  are  not  the  same." 

First  Bro.     Brother, 
Why  do  we  not,  then,  courageously  enter? 

Second  Bro.  Then,  brother,  draw  thy  sword 
and  follow  me. 

[It  lightens  and  thunders  as  Sacrapant  enters 
from  the  cell,  the  curtains  of  which  fairies  have 
drawn  as  before.  The  Second  Brother  falls  down. 
Fantastic  and  Frolic  attempt  to  run  away.     Madge 


OLD  WIVES'  TALE  41 

tries   to    hide.] 

First  Bro.     What,  brother,  dost  thou  fall? 

Sac.    Ay,  and  thou  too,  Calypha. 

[The  First  Brother  falls  down.] 
Adeste,  daemones! 

[Enter  from  cell  Two  Furies  in  red  with  awful 
countenances.  And  the  three  for  whom  the  tale  is 
played  are  crouching  in  the  very  fireplace,  debased 
with  terror.] 

Away  with  them: 
Carry  them  straight  to  Sacrapanto's  cell, 
There  in  despair  and  torture  for  to  dwell. 

[Furies  go  out  with  the  Two  Brothers.     When 
the    Furies    disappear    Sacrapant    advances    to    the 
mound  of  earth  and  there  speaks.] 
These  are  Thenores'  sons  of  Thessaly, 
That  come  to  seek  Delia  their  sister  forth; 
But,  with  a  potion  I  to  her  have  given, 
My  arts  have  made  her  to  forget  herself. 

[Removes  a  turf,  and  shoivs  a  light  in  a  glass. 
The  three  huddled  ones  grow  more  calm.] 
See  here  the  thing  which  doth  prolong  my  life, 
With   this  enchantment   I   do  anything; 
And  till  this  fade,  my  skill  shall  still  endure; 
And  never  none  shall  break  this  little  glass, 
But  she  that's  neither  wife,  widow,  nor  maid: 

[He  starts  ivith  relief  across  the  stage  where  con- 
fronted by  the  cross  the  evil  in  him  cowers  before 
the  symbol  and  he  retreats  unmanned  into  his  cell.] 
Then  cheer  thyself;  this  is  thy  destiny, 


42  OLD  WIVES'  TALE 

Never  to  die  but  by  a  dead  man's  hand.     [He  goes 
out;  fairies  close  cell  curtains  as  before.] 

[Enter,  fireplace,  Erestus  to  the  cross.  Follow- 
ing him  not  too  closely,  comes  Eumenides  the  ex- 
hausted lover  of  Delia,  in  clothing  once  fine  but 
bedraggled  by  many  wanderings.] 

Eum.     Tell  me,  Time, 
Tell  me,  just  Time,  when  shall  I  Delia  see? 
When  shall  I  see  the  loadstar  of  my  life? 
When   shall   my   wandering  course   end   with   her 

sight, 
Or  I  but  view  my  hope,  my  heart's  delight? 

[He  sees  Erestus  at  the  cross. .] 
Father,   God  speed!   if  you  tell   fortunes,   I   pray, 
good  father,  tell  me  mine. 

Erest.     Son,  I  do  see  in  thy  face 
Thy  blessed  fortune  work  apace: 
I  do  perceive  that  thou  hast  wit; 
Beg  of  thy  fate  to  govern  it, 
For  wisdom  governed  by  advice, 
Makes  many  fortunate  and  wise. 
Bestow  thy  alms,  give  more  than  all, 
Till  dead  men's  bones  come  at  thy  call. 
Farewell,  my  son:  dream  of  no  rest, 
Till  thou  repent  that  thou  didst  best. 

[Goes  out,  well.] 

Eum.      [Sitting  by  the  cross.]     This  man  hath 
left  me   in   a  labyrinth: 
He  biddeth  me  give  more  than  all, 
Till  dead  men's  bones  come  at  my  call; 


OLD  WIVES'  TALE  43 

He  biddeth  me  dream  of  no  rest. 
Till  I  repent  that  I  do  best.      [Leans  against  cross 
and  sleeps.] 

[Enter  Wiggen,  Corebus,  Churchwarden,  and 
Sexton,  the  first  tico  bearing  upon  a  bier  a  body 
covered  with  a  black  cloth,  the  Churchwarden  with 
a  Staff  in  his  hand,  and  the  Sexton  carrying  a  shovel. 
Wiggin  and  Corebus  are  slightly  the  worse  for  wear 
and  as  a  result  combative ;  the  Churchwarden  has 
the  courage  of  his  convictions,  zihich  are  few  and 
those  not  complex;  the  Sexton  is  a  coward  unless 
proti  cted  by  the  broad  back  and  resolute  shoulders 
of  the  Churchwarden,  u'hen  he  ventures  some  slight 
expostulatory  gestures.  On  the  whole  they  are  a 
commonplace  quartette  of  villagers  engaged  in  a 
somewhat  heated  argument.  They  advance  front 
during  the  altercation,  putting  dozen  the  bier. 
Meanwhile  Madge  and  her  friends  are  composed 
again,  Madge  nearly  asleep  over  her  knitting.  She 
quite  goes  off ;  but  Fantastic  and  Frolic  get  inter- 
ested in  the  quarrel  and  even  investigate  the  bier.] 

Wig.  You  may  be  ashamed,  you  rascally  scald 
Sexton  and  Churchwarden,  if  you  had  any  shame 
in  those  shameless  faces  of  yours,  to  let  a  poor  man 
lie  so  long  above  ground  unburied.  A  rot  on  you 
all,  that  have  no  more  compassion  of  a  good  fellow 
when  he  is  gone! 

Church.  What,  would  you  have  us  to  bury  him 
and  to  answer  it  ourselves  to  the  parish? 

Sex.     Parish  me  no  parishes;  pay  me  my  fees, 


44  OLD  WIVES'  TALE 

and  let  the  rest  run  on  in  the  quarter's  accounts, 
and  put  it  down  for  one  of  your  good  deeds,  o'  God's 
name!  for  I  am  not  one  that  curiously  stands  upon 
merits. 

Cor.  You  rascally,  sodden-headed  sheep's  face, 
shall  a  good  fellow  do  less  service  and  more  hon- 
esty to  the  parish,  and  will  you  not,  when  he  is 
dead,  let  him  have  Christmas  burial? 

Wig.  Peace,  Corebus !  as  sure  as  Jack  was  Jack, 
the  frolic'st  franion  amongst  you,  and  I,  Wiggen, 
his  sweet  sworn  brother,  Jack  shall  have  his  fu- 
nerals, or  some  of  them  shall  lie  on  God's  dear  earth 
for  it,  that's  once. 

Church.  Wiggen,  I  hope  thou  wilt  do  no  more 
than  thou  darest  answer. 

Wig.  Sir,  sir,  dare  or  dare  not,  more  or  less, 
answer  or  not  answer, — do  this,  or  have  this. 

Sex.     Help,  help,  help! 

[Wiggen  sets  upon  the  Churchwarden  with  his 
fists.     Eumenides  awakes  and  comes  to  them.] 

Eum.     Hold  thy  hands,  good  fellow. 

Cor.  Can  you  blame  him,  sir,  if  he  take  Jack's 
part  against  this  shake-rotten  parish  that  will  not 
bury  Jack? 

Eum.    Why,  what  was  that  Jack? 

Cor.  Who,  Jack,  sir?  who,  our  Jack,  sir?  as 
good  a  fellow  as  ever  trod  upon  neat's-leather. 

Wig.  Look  you,  sir;  he  gave  fourscore  and  nine- 
teen mourning  gowns  to  the  parish,  when  he  died, 
and  because  he  would  not  make  them  up  a  full  hun- 


OLD  WIVES'  TALE  45 

dred,  they  would  not  bury  him:  was  not  this  good 
dealing? 

Church.  O  Lord,  sir,  how  he  lies!  he  was  not 
worth  a  halfpenny,  and  drunk  out  every  penny;  and 
now  his  fellows,  his  drunken  companions,  would 
have  us  to  bun-  him  at  the  charge  of  the  parish.  An 
we  make  many  such  matches,  we  may  pull  down  the 
steeple,  sell  the  bells,  and  thatch  the  chancel:  he 
shall  lie  above  ground  till  he  dance  a  galliard  about 
the  churchyard,  for  Steeven  Loach. 

Wig.  Sic  argumentaris,  Domine  Loach, — An  we 
make  many  such  matches,  we  may  pull  down  the 
steeple,  sell  the  bells  and  thatch  the  chancel?  In 
good  time,  sir,  and  hang  yourselves  in  the  bell-ropes, 
when  you  have  done.  Domine,  opponens  praepono 
tibi  hanc  quaestionem,  whether  will  you  have  the 
ground  broken  or  your  pates  broken  first?  for  one 
of  them  shall  be  done  presently,  and  to  begin  mine, 
I'll  seal  it  upon  your  coxcomb. 

EuM.  Hold  thy  hands,  I  pray  thee,  good  fel- 
low; be  not  too  hasty. 

Cor.  You  capon's  face,  we  shall  have  you  turned 
out  of  the  parish  one  of  these  days,  with  never  a 
tatter  to  your  back;  then  you  are  in  worse  taking 
than  Jack. 

Eum.  Faith,  and  he  is  bad  enough.  This  fellow 
does  but  the  part  of  a  friend,  to  seek  to  bury  his 
friend :  how  much  will  bury  him? 

Wig.  Faith,  about  some  fifteen  or  sixteen  shil- 
lings will  bestow  him  honestly. 


46  OLD  WIVES'  TALE 

Sex.     Ay,  even  thereabouts,  sir. 

Eum.  Here,  hold  it,  then: — [aside]  and  I  have 
left  me  but  one  poor  three  halfpence:  now  do  I 
remember  the  words  the  old  man  spake  at  the  cross, 
"Bestow  all  thou  hast,"  and  this  is  all,  "till  dead 
men's  bones  come  at  thy  call" ; — here,  hold  it  [gives 
money]  ',  and  so  farewell. 

Wig.  God,  and  all  good,  be  with  you,  sir! 
[Eumenides  goes  out,  well.]  Nay,  you  cormorants, 
I'll  bestow  one  peal  of1  Jack  at  mine  own  proper 
costs  and  charges. 

Cor.  You  may  thank  God  the  long  staff  and 
the  bilboblade  crossed  not  your  coxcombs. — Well, 
we'll  to  the  churchstile  and  have  a  pot,  and  so 
trill-lill.     [Goes  out  with  Wiggen,  left  front.] 

Church.)  Come,  let's  go.      [They  go  out  left 

Sex.  )  front  carrying  bier.] 

Fan.  But,  hark  you,  gammer  [nudging  her], 
methinks  this  Jack  bore  a  great  sway  in  the  parish. 

Madge.  [Sleepily.]  O,  this  Jack  was  a  mar- 
vellous fellow !  he  was  but  a  poor  man,  but  very 
well  beloved :  you  shall  see  anon  what  this  Jack  will 
come  to.     [Goes  back  to  sleep.] 

[The  Harvestmen  return  from  reaping,  with  the 
Women,  as  their  song  is  sung  outside.] 

Fro.  Soft !  who  have  we  here  ?  our  amorous  har- 
vesters. 

Fan.    Ay,  ay,  let  us  sit  still,  and  let  them  alone. 

[Singing  without,  as  they  dance.] 

1On. 


OLD  WIVES'  TALE  47 

Lo,  here  we  come  a-reaping,  a-reaping, 
To  reap  our  harvest-fruit! 
And  thus  we  pass  the  year  so  long, 
And  never  be  we  mute. 
[Enter,  well,   Huanebango  abruptly,  frightening 
them  aii' ay."] 

HuAN.     Fee,   fa,   fum, 

Here  is  the  Englishman, — 
Conquer  him  that  can, — 
Come  for  his  lady  bright, 
To  prove  himself  a  knight, 
And  win  her  love  in  fight. 
Fro.     Soft!  who  have  we  here? 
Madge.     [Awaking.]     O,  this  is  a  choleric  gen- 
tleman!    All  you  that  love  your  lives,  keep  out  of 
the  smell  of  his  two-hand  sword:  now  goes  he  to 
the  conjurer. 

Fax.     Methinks  the  conjurer  should  put  the  fool 
into  a  juggling-box.1 
[Enter  Corebus,  well.] 

Cor.  Who-haw,  Master  Bango,  are  you  here? 
hear  you,  you  had  best  sit  down  here,  and  beg  an 
alms  with  me. 

Huax.      Hence,    base   cullion!    here    is   he    that 

commandeth   ingress   and   egress  with   his   weapon, 

and  will  enter  at  his  voluntary,  whosoever  saith  no. 

Voice.    No. 

[A  flame  of  fire ;  and  Huanebango  falls  dozen.] 

1  Originally  this  speech  and  the  two  preceding  it  were 
before  the  first  speech  by  Huanebango. 


48  OLD  WIVES'  TALE 

Madge.  [Aroused.]  So  with  that  they  kissed 
and  spoiled  the  edge  of  as  good  a  two-hand  sword 
as  ever  God  put  life  in.  Now  goes  Corebus  in,  spite 
of  the  conjurer.  [During  this  speech  the  fairies 
open  cell  curtains  as  before.] 

[Enter  Sacrapant  followed  by  Two  Furies.] 
Sac.     Away  with  him  into  the  open  fields, 
To  be  a  ravening  prey  to  crows  and  kites: 

[Huan  is  carried  out  by  the  Two  Furies.] 
And  for  this  villain,  let  him  wander  up  and  down, 
In  naught  but  darkness  and  eternal  night. 

[Strikes  Corebus  blind.] 
Cor.      Here   hast   thou   slain    Huan,   a  slashing 
knight, 
And  robbed  poor  Corebus  of  his  sight. 
Sac.     Hence,  villain,  hence! 

[Corebus  goes  out,  gropingly,  at  the  right.] 
Now  I  have  unto  Delia  given  a  potion  of  forget- 
fulness. 

[The  three  are  now  all  asleep.] 
That,   when   she   comes,   she   shall   not   know   her 

brothers. 
Lo,  where  they  labour,  like  to  country-slaves, 
With  spade  and  mattock,  on  this  enchanted  ground ! 
Now  will  I  call  her  by  another  name; 
For  never  shall  she  know  herself  again 
Until  that  Sacrapant  hath  breathed  his  last 
See  where  she  comes. 

[Enter,  well,  Delia,  still  passively  controlled  by 
the  wand  of  Sacrapant.     She  goes  into  Sacrapant's 


OLD  WIVES'  TALE  49 

magic  circle  drawn  upon  the  ground.] 
Come  hither,  Delia,  take  this  goad;  here  hard 
At  hand  two  slaves  do  work  and  dig  for  gold: 
Gore  them  with  this,  and  thou  shalt  have  enough. 

[Gives  her  a  goad.] 

Del.    Good  sir,  I  know  not  what  you  mean. 

Sac.     [Aside.]     She  hath  forgotten  to  be  Delia, 
But  not  forgot  the  same  she  should  forget; 
But  I  will  change  her  name. — 
Fair  Berecynthia,  so  this  country  calls  you, 
Go  ply  these  strangers,  wench;  they  dig  for  gold. 
[He  goes  out  through  cell.] 

Del.    O  heavens,  how 
Am  I  beholding  to  this  fair  young  man ! 
But  I  must  ply  these  strangers  to  their  work: 
See  where  they  come. 

[Enter,  cell,  the  Two  Brothers,  in  their  shirts, 
with  spades.  They  advance  to  plead  with  Delia, 
who  drives  them  to  work  at  the  mound  of  earth.] 

First  Bro.    O  brother,  see  where  Delia  is! 

Second  Bro.     O  Delia, 
Happy  are  we  to  see  thee  here! 

Del.  What  tell  you  me  of  Delia,  prating  swains? 
I  know  no  Delia,  nor  know  I  what  you  mean. 
Ply  you  your  work,  or  else  you're  like  to  smart. 

First  Bro.     Why,  Delia,  know'st  thou  not  thy 
brothers  here? 
We  come  from  Thessaly  to  seek  thee  forth; 
And  thou  deceiv'st  thyself,  for  thou  art  Delia. 

Del.     Yet  more  of  Delia?  then  take  this,  and 


I 


OLD  WIVES'  TALE 

smart:  [Whips  them.] 

What,  feign  you  shifts  for  to  defer  your  labour? 
Work,  villains,  work;  it  is  for  gold  you  dig. 

Second   Bro.      Peace,    brother,   peace:   this  vile 
enchanter 
Hath  ravished  Delia  of  hen^sensesf  clean, 
nd  she  forgets  that  she  is  Delia. 
First  Bro.     Leave,  cruel  thou,  to  hurt  the  mis- 
erable.— 
Dig,  brother,  dig,  for  she  is  hard  as  steel. 

[Here  they  dig,  and  descry  a  light  in  a  glass  under 
a  little  hill.] 

Second   Bro.      Stay,   brother;  what  hast   thou 

descried  ? 
Del.     Away,  and  touch  it  not;  'tis  something 
that 
My  lord  hath  hidden  there. 

[Covers  the  light  again.] 
[Re-enter  Sacrapant  from  cell.] 
Sac.    Well  said !  thou  plyest  these  pioners  well. — 
Go  get  you  in,  you  labouring  slaves. 

[The  Two  Brothers  go  into  the  cell.] 
Come,  Berecynthia,  let  us  in  likewise, 
And  hear  the  nightingale  record  her  notes. 

[They  go  into  the  cell  and  fairies  close  the  cur- 
tains.] 

[Enter,  right,  Zantippa  to  the  well  of  life  with  a 
pot  in  her  hand.  Zantippa's  name  belies  neither  her- 
self nor  the  description  her  father  has  given  her. 
She  is  fair  and  comely  but  has  a  "tongue  with  a 


OLD  WIVES'  TALE  51 

tang"  and  a  disposition   matching  it.} 

Zan.  Now  for  a  husband,  house,  and  home:  God 
send  a  good  one  or  none,  I  pray  God!  My  father 
hath  sent  me  to  the  well  for  the  water  of  life,  and 
tells  me,  if  I  give  fair  words,  I  shall  have  a  husband. 
But  here  comes  Celanta,  my  sweet  sister:  I'll  stand 
by  and  hear  what  she  says.  [Retires.] 

[Enter,  right,  Celanta  to  the  well  of  life,  with  a 
pot  in  her  hand.  She  is  the  opposite  to  her  sister. 
Dark,  ill-favored,  almost  homely  in  appearance,  she 
has  a  disposition  as  gentle  as  an  opening  bud  in  May. 
There  is  no  malice  in  her,  though  she  thinks  ivhat 
she  thinks  about  Zantippa.] 

Cel.  My  father  hath  sent  me  to  the  well  for 
water,  and  he  tells  me,  if  I  speak  fair,  I  shall  have 
a  husband,  and  none  of  the  worst.  Well,  though 
I  am  black,  I  am  sure  all  the  world  will  not  for- 
sake me;  and,  as  the  old  proverb  is,  though  I  am 
black,  I  am  not  the  devil. 

Zan.  [Coming  forward.]  Marry-gup  with  a 
murren,  I  know  wherefore  thou  speakest  that:  but 
go  thy  ways  home  as  wise  as  thou  earnest,  or  I'll 
set  thee  home  with  a  wanion. 

[Here  she  snatches  away  her  sister's  pitcher  and 
rushes  out,  left.] 

Cel.  I  think  this  be  the  curstest  quean  in  the 
world:  you  see  what  she  is,  a  little  fair,  but  as 
proud  as  the  devil,  and  the  veriest  vixen  that  lives 
upon  God's  earth.  Well,  I'll  let  her  alone,  and  go 
home,  and  get  another  pitcher,  and,  for  all  this,  get 


52 


OLD  WIVES'  TALE 


me  to  the  well  for  water.         [She  goes  out,  right.] 

[Enter,  out  of  Sacrapant's  cell,  the  Two  Furies, 
carrying  Huanebango :  they  lay  him  by  the  Well  of 
\Life,  and  then  go  out.     Re-enter  Zantippa  with  a 
pitcher  to  the  well.~\ 

Zan.  Once  again  for  a  husband;  and,  in  faith, 
Celanta  I  have  got  the  start  of  you;  belike  hus- 
bands grow  by  the  well-side.  Now  my  father  says 
I  must  rule  my  tongue:  why,  alas,  what  am  I,  then? 
A  woman  without  a  tongue  is  as  a  soldier  without 
his  weapon :  but  I'll  have  my  water,  and  be  gone. 

[Here  she  offers  to  dip  her  pitcher  in,  and  a 
Head  rises  in  the  well.] 

[Singing  without.]     Gently  dip,  but  not  too  deep, 
For  fear  you  make  the  golden  beard  to  weep, 
Fair  maiden,  white  and  red, 
Stroke  me  smooth,  and  comb  my  head, 
And  thou  shalt  have  some  cockell-bread. 

Zan.    What  is  this? 
"Fair  maiden,  white  and  red, 
Comb  me  smooth,  and  stroke  my  head, 
And  thou  shalt  have  some  cockell-bread?" 
"Cockell"  callest  thou  it,  boy?  faith,  I'll  give  you 
cockell-bread. 

[She  threatens  to  break  her  pitcher  upon  the 
Head :  then  it  thunders  and  lightens;  and  Huane- 
bango,  who  is  deaf  and  cannot  hear,  rises  up.  Huan 
zvoos  as  he  does  everything  else,  not  intelligently, 
but  violently.  Yet  Zantippa  both  matches  and  cap- 
tures him.] 


OLD  WIVES'  TALE  53 

Huan.     Philida,  phileridos,  pamphilida,  florida, 

flortos : 
Dub    dub-a-dub,   bounce,    quoth    the   guns,   with    a 

sulphurous  huff-snuff: 
Waked  with  a  wench,  pretty  peat,  pretty  love  and 

my   sweet   pretty   pigsnie, 
Just  by  thy  side  shall  sit  surnamed  great  Huane- 

bango : 
Safe  in  my  arms  will  I  keep  thee,  threat  Mars,  or 

thunder  Olympus. 
[His   outburst   wakens    the    three,   who    exhibit 
great  interest.] 

Z.ax.  [Aside.']  Foh,  what  greasy  groom  have  we 
here?  He  looks  as  though  he  crept  out  of  the  back- 
side of  the  well,  and  speaks  like  a  drum  perished 
at  the  west  end. 

HtJAN.     O,  that  I  might, — but  I  may  not,  woe 

to  my  destiny  therefore — 
Kiss  that  I  clasp !  but  I  cannot :  tell  me,  my  destiny, 

wherefore  ? 
Zan\  [Aside.]  Whoop,  now  I  have  my  dream. 
Did  you  never  hear  so  great  a  wonder  as  this,  three 
blue  beans  in  a  blue  bladder,  rattle,  bladder,  rattle? 
HuAN.  [Aside.]  I'll  now  set  my  countenance, 
and  to  her  in  prose;  it  may  be,  this  rim-ram-ruff  is 
too  rude  an  encounter. — Let  me,  fair  lady,  if  you 
be  at  leisure,  revel  with  your  sweetness,  and  rail 
upon  that  cowardly  conjurer,  that  hath  cast  me,  or 
congealed  me  rather,  into  an  unkind  sleep,  and  pol- 
luted mv  carcass. 


I 


54  OLD  WIVES'  TALE 

Zant.  [Aside.]  Laugh,  laugh,  Zantippa;  thou 
hast  thy  fortune,  a  fool  and  a  husband  under  one. 

Huan.  Truly,  sweetheart,  as  I  seem,  about  some 
twenty  years,  the  very  April  of  mine  age. 

Zan.     [Aside.]    Why,  what  a  prating  ass  is  this! 

Huan.    Her  coral  lips,  her  crimson  chin, 
Her  silver  teeth  so  white  within, 
Her  golden  locks,  her  rolling  eye, 
Her  pretty  parts,  let  them  go  by, 
Heigh-ho,  have  wounded  me, 
That  I  must  die  this  day  to  see! 

Zan.  By  Gogs-bones,  thou  art  a  flouting  knave: 
"her  coral  lips,  her  crimson  chin!"  ka,  wilshaw! 

Huan.  True,  my  own,  and  my  own  because 
mine,  and  mine  because  mine,  ha,  ha! — Above  a 
thousand  pounds  in  possibility,  and  things  fitting 
thy  desire  in  possession. 

Zan.  [Aside.]  The  sot  thinks  I  ask  of  his 
lands.  Lob  be  your  comfort.  .  .  .  Hear  you,  sir; 
an  if  you  will  have  us,  you  had  best  say  so  betime. 

Huan.  True,  sweetheart,  and  will  royalize  thy 
progeny  with  my  pedigree. 

[They  go  out,  fireplace.  Zantippa  the  Shrew  and 
Huanebango  the  Boaster  go  the  primrose  path  of 
dalliance  out  of  the  tale  into  Fairyland.] 

[Enter,  left,  Corebus,  who  is  blind,  and  Celanta, 
to  the  Well  of  Life  for  zvater.]1 

Cor.     Come,  my  duck,  come:  I  have  now  got  a 

1This  episode  in  the  original  follows  the  one  it  here 
precedes. 


OLD  WIVES'  TALE  55 

wife:  thou  art  fair,  art  thou  not? 

Cel.     My  Corebus,   the  fairest  alive;  make  no 
doubt  of  that. 

Cor.     Come,  wench,  are  we  almost  at  the  well? 

Cel.     Ay,  Corebus,  we  are  almost  at  the  well 
now. 
I'll  go  fetch  some  water:  sit  down  while  I  dip  my 
pitcher  in. 

[A  Head  comes  up  uith  ears  of  corn,  which  she 
combs  into  her  lap.] 

[Singing  ivithout.]     Gently  dip,  but  not  too  deep, 
For  fear  you  make  the  golden  beard  to  weep. 
Fair  maiden,  white  and  red, 
Comb  me  smooth,  and  stroke  my  head, 
And  thou  shalt  have  some  cockell-bread. 

[A  Second  Head  comes  up  full  of  gold,  which 
she  combs  into  her  lap.] 

[Singing  nithout.]     Gently  dip.  but  not  too  deep, 
For  fear  thou  make  the  golden  beard  to  weep. 
Fair  maid,  white  and  red, 
Comb  me  smooth,  and  stroke  my  head, 
And  every  hair  a  sheaf  shall  be, 
And  every  sheaf  a  golden  tree. 

Cel.  O,  see,  Corebus,  I  have  combed  a  great 
deal  of  gold  into  my  lap,  and  a  great  deal  of  corn! 

Cor.  Well  said,  wench!  [He  feels  in  her  lap.] 
Now  we  shall  have  just  enough:  God  send  us  coin- 
ers to  coin  our  gold.  But  come,  shall  we  go  home, 
sweetheart? 

Cel.     Nay,  come,  Corebus,  I  will  lead  you. 


56  OLD  WIVES'  TALE 

Cor.     So,  Corebus,  things  have  well  hit; 
Thou  hast  gotten  wealth  to  mend  thy  wit. 

[They  go  out,  fireplace.] 

{Enter,  well,  Eumenides,  even  more  hopeless  than 
before.  He  seats  himself,  despondent,  at  the  cross. 
The  three  go  gradually  off  to  sleep  for  the  rest  of 
the  play.] 

Eum.    Wretched  Eumenides,  still  unfortunate, 
Envied  by  fortune  and  forlorn  by  fate, 
Here  pine  and  die,  wretched  Eumenides, 
Die  in  the  spring,  the  April  of  thy  age! 
Here  sit  thee  down,  repent  what  thou  hast  done: 
I  would  to  God  that  it  were  ne'er  begun! 

[Enter,  fireplace,  Ghost  of  Jack,  following^  Eu- 
menides. The  shadow  of  a  sprightly  young  fellow 
full  of  attitudes  and  the  play  of  wit  and  fancy  in 
many  poses.  This  is  no  somber  and  mysterious 
ghost,  except  when  bent  upon  undoing  evil.  Even 
then  he  goes  about  his  business  somewhat  more 
cheerfully  than  do  many.'] 

G.  of  Jack.     You  are  well  overtaken,  sir. 

Eum.     Who's  that? 

G.  of  Jack.     You  are  heartily  well  met,  sir. 

Eum.  Forbear,  I  say;  who  is  that  which  pinch- 
eth  me? 

G.  of  Jack.  Trusting  in  God,  good  Master 
Eumenides,  that  you  are  in  so  good  health  as  all 
your  friends  were  at  the  making  hereof, — God  give 
you  good  morrow,  sir!  Lack  you  not  a  neat,  hand- 
some, and  cleanly  young  lad,  about  the  age  of  fifteen 


OLD  WIVES'  TALE  57 

or  sixteen  years,  that  can  run  by  your  horse,  and, 
for  a  need,  make  your  mastership's  shoes  as  black  as 
ink?     How  say  you,  sir? 

Eum.  Alas,  pretty  lad,  I  know  not  how  to  keep 
myself,  and  much  less  a  servant,  my  pretty  boy;  my 
state  is  so  bad. 

G.  of  Jack.  Content  yourself,  you  shall  not  be 
so  ill  a  master  but  I'll  be  as  bad  a  servant.  Tut,  sir, 
I  know  you,  though  you  know  not  me :  are  not  you 
the  man,  sir,  deny  it  if  you  can,  sir,  that  came  from 
a  strange  place  in  the  land  of  Catita,  where  Jack- 
an-apes  flies  with  his  tail  in  his  mouth,  to  seek  out 
a  lady  as  white  as  snow  and  as  red  as  blood?  Ha, 
ha!  have  I  touched  you  now? 

Eum.  [J side.]  I  think  this  boy  be  a  spirit. — 
How  knowest  thou  all  this? 

G.  of  Jack.  Tut,  are  not  you  the  man,  sir,  deny 
it  if  you  can,  sir,  that  gave  all  the  money  you  had  to 
the  burying  of  a  poor  man,  and  but  one  three  half- 
pence left  in  your  purse?  Content  you,  sir.  I'll 
serve  you,  that  is  flat. 

Eum.  Well,  my  lad,  since  thou  are  so  importu- 
nate, I  am  content  to  entertain  thee,  not  as  a  serv- 
ant, but  a  co-partner  in  my  journey.  But  whither 
shall  we  go?  for  I  have  not  any  money  more  than 
one  bare  three  halfpence. 

G.  of  Jack.  Well,  master,  content  yourself,  for 
if  my  divination  be  not  out,  that  shall  be  spent  at  the 
next  inn  or  alehouse  we  come  to;  for,  master,  I 
know   you    are   passing   hungry:    therefore    I'll   go 


58  OLD  WIVES'  TALE 

before  and  provide  dinner  until  that  you  come;  no 
doubt  but  you'll  come  fair  and  softly  after. 

Eum.  Ay,  go  before:  I'll  follow  thee.  [Hope- 
lessly.] 

G.  of  Jack.  But  do  you  hear,  master?  do  you 
know  my  name? 

Eum.     No,  I  promise  thee;  not  yet. 

G.  of  Jack.  Why,  I  am  Jack.  [He  goes  out, 
behind  settle.] 

Eum.  Jack!  why,  be  it  so,  then.  [Still  he  fails 
to  recognize  this  ghost.] 

[Fairies  bring  in  table  and  stool,  taking  position 
at  front  curtains.  Enter  Hostess,  a  trim  and  smiling 
woman,  and  Jack  setting  meat  on  the  table.  Eu- 
menides  walks  up  and  down  and  will  eat  no  meat.] 

Host.  How  say  you,  sir?  do  you  please  to  sit 
down? 

Eum.  Hostess,  I  thank  you,  I  have  no  great 
stomach.     [Seats  himself.] 

Host.  Pray,  sir,  what  is  the  reason  your  master 
is  so  strange?  doth  not  this  meat  please  him? 

G.  of  Jack.  Yes,  hostess,  but  it  is  my  master's 
fashion  to  pay  before  he  eats;  therefore,  a  reckon- 
ing, good  hostess. 

Host.  Marry,  shall  you,  sir,  presently.  [She 
goes  out,  behind  settle.] 

Eum.  Why,  Jack,  what  dost  thou  mean?  thou 
knowest  I  have  not  any  money;  therefore,  sweet 
Jack,  tell  me  what  shall  I  do? 

G.  of  Jack.     Well,  master,  look  in  your  purse. 


OLD  WIVES'  TALE  59 

Eum.  Why,  faith,  it  is  a  folly,  for  I  have  no 
money. 

G.  of  Jack.  Why,  look  you,  master;  do  so  much 
for  me. 

Eum.  [Looking  into  his  purse.]  Alas,  Jack,  my 
purse  is  full  of  money! 

G.  of  Jack.  "Alas,"  master!  does  that  word 
belong  to  this  accident?  why,  methinks  I  should  have 
seen  you  cast  away  your  cloak  and  in  a  bravado  dance 
a  galliard  round  about  the  chamber :  why,  master, 
your  man  can  teach  you  more  wit  than  this. 

[He  calls  the  Hostess.] 

Come,  Hostess,  cheer  up  my  master. 

Host.  [Entering.]  You  are  heartily  welcome; 
and  if  it  please  you  to  eat  of  a  fat  capon,  a  fairer 
bird,  a  finer  bird,  a  sweeter  bird,  a  crisper  bird,  a 
neater  bird,  your  worship  never  eat  of. 

Eum.    Thanks,  my  fine,  eloquent  Hostess. 

G.  of  Jack.  But  hear  you,  master,  one  word  by 
the  way:  are  you  content  I  shall  be  halves  in  all  you 
get  in  your  journey? 

Eum.     [Rising.]     I  am,  Jack,  here  is  my  hand. 

G.  of  Jack.    Enough,  master,  I  ask  no  more. 

Eum.  Come,  Hostess,  receive  your  money;  and 
I  thank  you  for  my  good  entertainment.  [Gives 
money.] 

Host.    You  are  heartily  welcome,  sir. 

Eum.    Come,  Jack,  whither  go  we  now? 

G.  of  Jack.  Marry,  master,  to  the  conjurer's 
presently. 


60  OLD  WIVES'  TALE 

Eum.     Content,  Jack. — Hostess,  farewell. 

[Hostess  goes  out  behind  settle.] 

G.  of  Jack.   Come  away,  master,  come. 

[They  start  toward  the  cross.  Fairies  go  out  he- 
hind  settle,  with  table  and  stool.] 

Eum.  Go  along,  Jack,  I'll  follow  thee.  Jack, 
they  say  it  is  good  to  go  cross-legged,  and  say  pray- 
ers backward ;  how  sayest  thou  ? 

G.  of  Jack.  Tut,  never  fear,  master;  let  me 
alone.  Here  sit  you  still;  speak  not  a  word;  and 
because  you  shall  not  be  enticed  with  his  enchanting 
speeches,  with  this  same  wool  I'll  stop  your  ears. 
[Puts  wool  into  the  ears  of  Eumenides.]  And  so, 
master,  sit  still,  for  I  must  to  the  conjurer. 

[He  goes  out  through  closed  curtains  of  cell  un- 
seen of  Sacrapant  who  instantly  appears  between  the 
undrawn  curtains  and  is  as  instantly  followed  by  the 
Ghost  of  Jack  invisible  to  the  sorcerer.] 

Sac.     How  now !  what  man  art  thou,  that  sits  so 
sad? 
Why  dost  thou  gaze  upon  these  stately  trees 
Without  the  leave  and  will  of  Sacrapant? 
What,  not  a  word  but  mum?    Then,  Sacrapant, 
Thou  art  betrayed. 

[  The  Ghost  of  Jack  takes  Sacrapant's  wreath  off 
from  his  head  and  wearing  it  himself  runs  about 
the  stage.  Sacrapant  looks  about  in  dread  but  sees 
him  not.] 

What  hand  invades  the  head  of  Sacrapant? 
What  hateful  Fury  doth  envy  my  happy  state? 


OLD  WIVES'  TALE  61 

Then,  Sacrapant,  these  are  thy  latest  days. 

[  The  Ghost  comes  flitting  back  and  twists  from 
Sacrapant's  nerveless  fingers  his  magic  icand ;  hold- 
ing it  as  Sacrapant  ivas  used  to  do  until  the  sorcerer 
has  disappeared.] 

Alas,  my  veins  are  numbed,  my  sinews  shrink, 
My  blood  is  pierced,  my  breath  fleeting  away, 
And  now  my  timeless  date  is  come  to  end ! 
He  in  whose  life  his  acts  have  been  so  foul, 
Now  in  his  death  to  hell  descends  his  soul. 

[He  goes  out  through  closed  curtains  of  cell.] 

G.  of  Jack.  O,  sir,  are  you  gone?  Now  I  hope 
we  shall  have  some  other  coil.  Now  master,  how 
like  you  this?  the  conjurer  he  is  dead,  and  vows 
nc.er  to  trouble  us  more.  Now  get  you  to  your 
fair  lady,  and  see  what  you  can  do  with  her. — Alas, 
he  heareth  me  not  all  this  while!  but  I  will  help 
that. 

[Pulls  the  wool  out  of  the  ears  of  Eumenides.] 

Eum.     How  now,  Jack!  what  news? 

G.  of  Jack.  Here,  master,  take  this  sword 
[Shows  Eumenides  his  own  sword,  and  leads  him 
to  the  mound],  and  dig  with  it  at  the  foot  of  this 
hill. 

[Eumenides  digs,  and  spies  a  light  in  a  glass.] 

Eum.     How  now,  Jack!  what  is  this? 

G.  of  Jack.  Master,  without  this  the  conjurer 
could  do  nothing;  and  so  long  as  this  light  lasts,  so 
long  doth  his  art  endure,  and  this  being  out,  then 
doth  his  art  decay. 


62 


OLD  WIVES'  TALE 


Eum.  Why,  then,  Jack,  I  will  soon  put  out  this 
light. 

G.  of  Jack.    Ay,  master,  how? 

Eum.  Why,  with  a  stone  I'll  break  the  glass, 
and  then  blow  it  out. 

G.  of  Jack.  No,  master,  you  may  as  soon  break 
the  smith's  anvil  as  this  little  vial;  nor  the  biggest 
blast  that  ever  Boreas  blew  cannot  blow  out  this 
little  light;  but  she  that  is  neither  maid,  wife,  nor 
widow.  Master,  wind  this  horn,  and  see  what  will 
happen.      [Gives  horn.} 

[As  Eumenides  winds  the  horn.  Jack  does  the 
magic  of  Sacrapant  with  his  wand.  Enter  Venelia} 
who  breaks  the  glass,  blows  out  the  light  and  then 
goes  out.} 

So,  master,  how  like  you  this?  This  is  she  that 
ran  madding  in  the  woods,  his  betrothed  love  that 
keeps  the  cross ;  and  now,  this  light  being  out,  all 
are  restored  to  their  former  liberty:  and  now,  mas- 
ter, to  the  lady  that  you  have  so  long  looked  for. 

[The  Ghost  of  Jack  draws  the  cell  curtain,  and 
discovers  Delia  sitting  asleep.  Eumenides  kisses  her 
thrice.} 

Eum.  [Kneeling.}  God  speed,  fair  maid,  sit- 
ting alone, — there  is  once;  God  speed,  fair  maid, — 
there  is  twice;  God  speed,  fair  maid, — that  is  thrice. 

Del.  [Awaking.}  Not  so,  good  sir,  for  you  are 
by. 

G.  of  Jack.  Enough,  master,  she  hath  spoke; 
now  I  will  leave  her  with  you.     [He  goes  out,  cell.} 


OLD  WIVES'  TALE  63 

Eum.     [Arising.']     Thou  fairest  flower  of  these 
western  parts, 
Whose  beauty  so  reflecteth  in  my  sight 
As  doth  a  crystal  mirror  in  the  sun; 
For  thy  sweet  sake  I  have  crossed  the  frozen  Rhine ; 
Leaving  fair  Po,  I  sailed  up  Danuby, 
As  far  as  Saba,  whose  enhancing  streams 
Cut  twixt  the  Tartars  and  the  Russians: 
These  have  I  crossed  for  thee,  fair  Delia: 
Then  grant  me  that  which  I  have  sued  for  long. 

Del.      [Arising.]      Thou   gentle   knight,   whose 
fortune  is  so  good 
To  find  me  out  and  set  my  brothers  free, 
My  faith,  my  heart,  my  hand  I  give  to  thee.     [Both 
advance.] 

Eum.  Thanks,  gentle  madam:  but  here  comes 
Jack;  thank  him,  for  he  is  the  best  friend  that  we 
have. 

[Re-enter   the  Ghost  of  Jack,  with   Sacrapant's 
head  in  his  hand.] 
How  now,  Jack!  what  hast  thou  there? 

G.  of  Jack.  Marry,  master,  the  head  of  the 
conjurer. 

Eum.  Why,  Jack,  that  is  impossible;  he  was  a 
young  man. 

G.  of  Jack.  Ah,  master,  so  he  deceived  them  that 
beheld  him !  but  he  was  a  miserable,  old,  and  crooked 
man,  though  to  each  man's  eye  he  seemed  young  and 
fresh;  for,  master,  this  conjurer  took  the  shape  of 
the  old  man  that  kept  the  cross,  and  that  old  man 


64  OLD  WIVES'  TALE 

was  in  the  likeness  of  the  conjurer.    But  now,  mas- 
ter, wind  your  horn. 

[Eumenides  winds  his  horn.  Enter,  fireplace, 
Venelia,  the  Two  Brothers,  and  Erestus.] 

Eum.    Welcome,  Erestus!  welcome,  fair  Venelia! 
Welcome,  Thelea  and  Calypha  both ! 
Now  have  I  her  that  I  so  long  have  sought, 
So  saith  fair  Delia,  if  we  have  your  consent. 

First  Bro.     Valiant  Eumenides,  thou  well  de- 
serv'st 
To  have  our  favours;  so  let  us  rejoice 
That  by  thy  means  we  are  at  liberty: 
Here  may  we  joy  each  in  the  other's  sight, 
And  this  fair  lady  have  her  wandering  knight. 

G.  of  Jack.  So,  master,  now  ye  think  you  have 
done;  but  I  must  have  a  saying  to  you:  you  know 
you  and  I  were  partners,  I  to  have  half  in  all  you 
got. 

Eum.    Why,  so  thou  shalt,  Jack. 

G.  of  Jack.  Why,  then,  master,  draw  your 
sword,  part  your  lady,  let  me  have  half  of  her 
presently. 

Eum.  Why,  I  hope,  Jack,  thou  dost  but  jest:  I 
promised  thee  half  I  got,  but  not  half  my  lady. 

G.  of  Jack.  But  what  else,  master?  have  you 
not  gotten  her?  therefore  divide  her  straight,  for  I 
will  have  half;  there  is  no  remedy. 

Eum.  Well,  ere  I  will  falsify  my  word  unto  my 
friend,  take  her  all :  here,  Jack,  I'll  give  her  thee. 

G.  of  Jack.     Nay,  neither  more  nor  less,  mas- 


OLD  WIVES'  TALE  05 

ter,  but  even  just  half. 

Eum.  Before  I  will  falsify  my  faith  unto  my 
friend,  I  will  divide  her:  Jack,  thou  shalt  have  half. 

First  Bro.  Be  not  so  cruel  unto  our  sister,  gen- 
tle knight. 

Second  Bro.  O,  spare  fair  Delia!  she  deserves 
no  death. 

Eum.  Content  yourselves;  my  word  is  passed  to 
him. — Therefore  prepare  thyself,  Delia,  for  thou 
must  die. 

Del.     Then  farewell,  world!  adieu,  Eumenides! 

[Eumenides  offers  to  strike,  and  the  Ghost  of 
Jack  stays  him.] 

G.  of  Jack.  Stay,  master;  it  is  sufficient  I  have 
tried  your  constancy.  Do  you  now  remember  since 
you  paid  for  the  burying  of  a  poor  fellow? 

Eum.     Ay,  very  well.  Jack. 

G.  of  Jack.  Then,  master,  thank  that  good  deed 
for  this  good  turn  [I  go  to  my  grave]  :  and  so  God 
be  with  you  all!     f Disappears  behind  cell  curtain.] 

Eum.     Tack,  what,  art  thou  gone?  then  farewell, 
Jack!— 
Come,  brothers,  and  my  beauteous  Delia, 
Erestus,  and  thy  dear  Venelia, 
We  will  to  Thessaly  with  joyful  hearts. 

All.    Agreed :  we  follow  thee  and  Delia. 

[They  all  go  out,  except  Frolic,  Fantastic,  and 
Madge.] 

Fax.     What,  gammer,  asleep? 

Madge.     By  the  mass,  son,  'tis  almost  day;  and 


66  OLD  WIVES'  TALE 

my  windows  shut  at  the  cock's-crow. 

Fro.  Do  you  hear,  gammer?  methinks  this  Jack 
bore  a  great  sway  amongst  them. 

Madge.  O,  man,  this  was  the  ghost  of  the  poor 
man  that  they  kept  such  a  coil  to  bury;  and  that 
makes  him  to  help  the  wandering  knight  so  much. 
But  come,  let  us  in:  we  will  have  a  cup  of  ale  and 
a  toast  this  morning,  and  so  depart. 

[Enter  Clunch  and  Antic,  returning  after  their 
night's  sleep.  They  take  their  places  to  watch  the 
closing  fairy  dance.] 

Fan.  Then  you  have  made  an  end  of  your  tale, 
gammer  ? 

Madge.  Yes,  faith:  when  this  was  done,  I  took 
a  piece  of  bread  and  cheese,  and  came  my  way;  and 
so  shall  you  have,  too,  before  you  go,  to  your  break- 
fast.     [They  go  out.] 

[Song  without,  Charm  me  asleep  and  Fairy  dance. 
This  time  they  vanish  by  the  fireplace  and  the  well 
as  Epilogue  enters,  right,  in  severe  scholastic  garb. 
They  close  the  curtains  behind  them  and  Epilogue, 
left  along  upon  the  stage,  repeats  the  following.] 
[Now,  gentles  all,  it  is  the  early  dawn 
When  fairies  leave  the  midnight  fields  and  sports 
Tempered  to  mortal  minds,  and  wind  their  way 
Home  to  the  distant  hills  of  Fairyland. 
I  come  a  mortal  breaking  on  their  spell 
To  ask  your  graces'  favor.     Did  we  well 
To  bring  you  back  this  wandering  Old  Wives'  Tale, 
Or  did  we  ill?     However  that  may  be, 


OLD  WIVES'  TALE  67 

We  hope  the  Old  Wife  brought  a  pleasant  hour. 
If  not,  may  hours  of  happiness  to  come 
Atone  for  one  of  sadness.    So,  farewell!] 

[He  goes  out.] 


APPENDICES 


SKETCH   OF   PEELE  S   LIFE 


George  Peele  was  one  of  the  group  of  University 
wits  (John  Lyly,  Thomas  Lodge,  George  Peele, 
Robert  Greene,  and  Thomas  Nashe)  who  exerted 
so  potent  an  influence  upon  Elizabethan  drama  just 
prior  to  Shakespeare.  He  was  born  in  1558.  His 
early  education  was  obtained  at  the  Grammar  School 
connected  with  Christ's  Hospital,  of  which  his  fa- 
ther, James  Peele,  was  clerk.  Peele  was  an  Oxford 
man,  student  at  Pembroke  and  Christ  Church,  re- 
ceiving his  B.A.  in  1577,  his  M.A.  in  1579.  While 
a  member  of  the  University  he  had  already  made  so 
striking  a  reputation  as  poet,  scholar,  and  dramatist, 
that  in  1583,  after  a  three  years'  residence  in  London, 
he  was  called  back  to  Oxford  to  assist  in  the  prepa- 
ration of  a  dramatic  entertainment  for  the  reception 
at  his  college  of  the  Polish  prince  palatine,  Albertus 
Alasco.  His  life  leaves  nothing  to  boast  of  apart 
from  his  writings.  A  good  marriage,  financially  at 
least,  was  of  no  assistance  to  him,  as  the  property 
soon  vanished.  He  was  dissolute,  living  a  miserable 
existence  in  squalor  and  depravity.  He  died  in  1598, 
69 


70  APPENDICES 

barely  forty  years  old.  The  extant  plays  credited 
to  him  are  The  Arraignment  of  Paris,  The  Old 
Wives'  Tale,  Edward  I,  The  Love  of  King  David 
and  Fair  Bethsabe,  and  The  Battle  of  Alcazar.  In 
contrast  to  the  sordidness  and  failure  of  his  life 
stands  the  dramatic  output  of  the  man  and  the  lit- 
erary ideals  which  inspired  him.  Professor  Gum- 
mere,  writing  in  Gayley's  Representative  English 
Comedies,  says  of  him:  "He  was  an  artist  in  words, 
and  he  had  the  gift  of  humor."  And  Professor 
George  P.  Baker's  comment  in  the  Cambridge  His- 
tory of  English  Literature  elaborates  this  thought 
when  he  says  that  Peele  had  "an  exquisite  feeling 
for  the  musical  value  of  words,"  and  further  remarks 
that  in  some  of  his  lines  is  revealed  "something  of 
that  peculiar  ability  which  reached  its  full  develop- 
ment in  the  mature  Shakespeare — that  power  of 
flashing  before  us  in  a  line  or  two  something  defini- 
tive both  as  a  picture  and  in  beauty  of  phrase." 

II 

THE  FAIRY  STORIES  IN  "THE  OLD  WIVES'  TALE" 

In  constructing  his  play  Peele  made  use  of  four 
principal  tales,  Childe  Roland,  The  Sleeping  Beauty, 
Jack,  the  Giant  Killer,  and  The  Three  Heads  of  the 
Well.  In  addition,  he  inserted  details  common  to 
many  folk-tales  and  of  use  in  increasing  the  impres- 
sion which  he  desired  to  make.     He  seems  to  have 


APPENDICES  71 

felt  that  the  audience  must  be  returned  to  their 
childhood  by  as  many  paths  as  possible.  The  Childe 
Roland  story  is  that  of  the  chief  quest  of  the  two 
brothers.  In  it,  as  here  told,  Erestus  takes  the  place 
of  Merlin.  The  sleeping;  beauty  story  is  that  of  the 
quest  of  Eumenidt-s.  With  it  is  bound  up  that  of 
Jack,  the  Giant  Killer,  who  assists  Eumenides  by 
slaying  Sacrapant.  The  daughters  of  Lampriscus 
are  the  heroines  of  Peele's  version  of  The  Three 
Heads  of  the  Well.  Some  of  the  subordinate  themes 
are  that  of  the  Life  Index  in  the  light  whose  extinc- 
tion meant  Sacrapant 's  death;  the  Thankful  Dead, 
as  a  motive  for  Jack's  aid  to  Eumenides;  and  the 
Fee-fo-fum  refrain  so  often  spoken  by  giants  and 
ogres  in  the  old  tales. 

Mr.  Joseph  Jacobs,  in  his  English  Fairy  Stories, 
has  traced  some  of  these  connections.  His  notes  are 
worth  quoting,  not  only  for  the  information  given 
about  the  fairy  tales  in  which  we  are  interested,  but 
because  of  his  antiquarian  estimate  of  the  play,  \vhich 
is  so  like  that  of  many  critics  who  are  without  his 
knowledge.  In  his  notes  upon  Childe  Roland  oc- 
curs the  following  sentence:  "That  some  such  story 
was  current  in  England  in  Shakespeare's  time  is 
proved  by  that  curious  melange  of  nursery  tales, 
Peele's  Old  Wives'  Tale."  In  his  notes  upon  Jack, 
the  Giant  Killer,  he  refers  to  that  "Curious  play  of 
Peele's,  The  Old  Wives'  Tale,  in  which  one  of  the 
characters  is  the  ghost  of  Jack."  As  Professor  Gum- 
mere  remarks,  there  is  an  abundant  field  for  scholarly 


72  APPENDICES 

investigation  in  tracing  the  tales  which  Peele  has 
used  and  their  affiliations. 


Ill 

THE  MUSIC  USED  IN  THE  MIDDLEBURY  PRODUCTION 

It  may  be  of  value  to  state  in  the  briefest  fashion 
the  adaptations  made  use  of  in  presenting  the  music 
of  the  play.  Mrs.  Maude  S.  Howard,  now  of  the 
music  department  of  Lincoln  Memorial  University, 
who  had  charge  of  the  music,  has  kindly  furnished 
the  following  statement: 

1.  The  Fairy  Ring  and  Whenas  the  Rye. 

Adapted  to  a  Glee  written  by  John  Parry, 
"Come,  Fairies,  Trip  It  On  the  Grass." 
The  recurring  phrase,  "With  a  ho,  ho,  ho, 
ho,"  added  to  both  songs. 

2.  Mad  Maid's  Song. 

Adapted  to  a  Ballet  for  five  voices,  "All 
Ye  Woods  and  Trees  and  Bowers,"  writ- 
ten by  Henry  Lahee.  The  first  move- 
ment only  used  and  sung  in  unison. 

3.  All  Ye  That  Lovely  Lovers  Be. 

Adapted  to  the  Chorus  of  "The  Chough 
and  Crow  to  Roost  Are  Gone,"  written 


APPENDICES  73 

by  Sir  Henry  R.  Bishop.  The  words  of 
the  chorus  of  original  song  added  to  t\ie 
verse  of  "All  ye,"  etc.  Sung  in  three 
parts. 

4.  Spread,  Table,  Spread. 

Adapted  to  second  movement  of  "All  Ye 
Woods  and  Trees  and  Flowers,"  by  Mr. 
Lahee.     Sung  in  thirds  and  sixths. 

5.  Gently  Dip,  But  Not  Too  Deep. 

Adapted  to  the  first  five  phrases  of  "The 
Chough  and  Crow  to  Roost  Have  Gone," 
by  Sir  Henry  Bishop.   Sung  in  three  parts. 

6.  Charm  Me  Asleep. 

Music  written  by  Maude  Stevens  Howard 
and  patterned  after  an  old  madrigal  in 
two  parts. 

All  songs  were  accompanied  by  two  clarinets  and 
one  flute,  the  air  being  played  by  one  clarinet  and 
flute,  the  second  part  played  by  the  second  clarinet. 
In  the  three  songs  the  flute  played  the  air  and  the 
two  clarinets  played  the  second  and  third  parts. 


74  APPENDICES 

IV 

THE    MAD    MAID'S    SONG,    BY    ROBERT    HERRICK 

Good  morrow  to  the  day  so  fair; 

Good  morning,  sir,  to  you; 
Good  morrow  to  mine  own  torn  hair 

Bedabbled  with  the  dew. 

Good  morning  to  this  primrose,  too ; 

Good  morrow  to  each  maid 
That  will  with  flowers  the  tomb  bestrew 

Wherein  my  love  is  laid. 

Ah !  woe  is  me,  woe,  woe  is  me, 

Alack  and  welladay! 
For  pity,  Sir,  find  out  that  bee 

Which  bore  my  love  away. 

I'll  seek  him  in  your  bonnet  brave, 

I'll  seek  him  in  your  eyes; 
Nay,  now  I  think  t'have  made  his  grave 

I'  th'  bed  of  strawberries. 

I'll  seek  him  there;  I  know,  ere  this, 
The  cold,  cold  earth  doth  shake  him; 

But  I  will  go,  or  send  a  kiss 
By  you,  Sir,  to  awake  him. 


APPENDICES  75 

Pray  hurt  him  not;  though  he  be  dead, 
He  knows  well  who  do  love  him, 

And  who  with  green  turfs  reare  his  head, 
And  who  do  rudely  move  him. 

He's  soft  and  tender!  pray  take  heed! 

With  bands  of  cowslips  bind  him, 
And  bring  him  home: — but  'tis  decreed 

That  I  shall  never  find  him. 


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